A few years ago, when I was in college, I wanted to work at TWLOHA.  I dreamed of a life sleeping in a van or bus, traveling around the country telling people about this vision I believed in.  Then, I arrived, and my job wasn’t really about traveling at all.  I also learned I’m not really designed for being on tour; it is a life of movement, and I am actually a fan of being still.

But sometimes, I get to represent TWLOHA outside of our small Florida town.  Like a couple weeks ago when I went with Jessica to California to visit four organizations and counseling centers.  It’s really important to us to create and sustain a relationship with the organizations and counseling centers we recommend to our supporters.  We hear from people working with resources, and we were very fortunate that last year, four separate centers in California reached out.  I worked with them for months to organize a trip where we could visit all four places in just a few days to get a sense of the work they do and who they are as teams.

I should tell you about the amazing people I met, people who are changing the world with the care they are providing on the west coast.  I should talk about how I met a couple of people who are a part of TWLOHA’s story, people I have heard about for years and finally met in real life.  I should explain how awesome it was to travel with Jessica, who understands when I need to just read a book and not talk to anyone.  I should detail my love for California’s mountains and how its slightly cold weather made a smile spread across my face and stay.  I should tell you about the peace I felt looking out at the Pacific for the first time in my twenty-four years, the quiet way the wind whipped around, and how grateful I was just to be breathing.

But this what I want to share:  “Home is: where I will lay my bones when I die.”

I saw this quote at A Home Within, the first organization we visited.  It was on the first page on an art book, with “Home is:” as a prompt at the top, and there were several sentences that followed that line, scrawled by a child in the foster system, whose age I don’t know and whose face I will never see but whose words stayed with me all the same.

I was reminded that we bring our lives, memories and baggage and aches and chances and expectations, to the table when we color in the lines and add definition to our stories. What would the world look like if we encouraged the differences and appreciated them in each other?  If we made an effort to look at the world from a perspective we may not understand at first?

I don’t know what it’s like to be switched around from family to family without feeling like I belong to one or becoming attached to people only to be taken away from them without warning.  I don’t know what it’s like to live in a group home with other kids who are in the system.  I don’t know what it is to live a life of movement with change an ever-present reality on the horizon.

But I know what it’s like to long for home, a place to feel rooted and safe.

That’s the beginning, this tiny common ground, a small overlap, a thread that connects my story to this stranger’s story, a signpost to remember to share grace.  I am a fan of being still, but these moments on the road are some of my favorite TWLOHA memories, the moments when I remember that sometimes our stories run together.  Thank you, California, for letting yours run into mine.

--whitney

Comments (1) | Posted in General, Journal by Whitney Wilson

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On October 1st, we started accepting applications for our first ever high school campaign The Storytellers. Below is Part One of a blog from our coordinating team for The Storytellers. Chloe shares a bit about her own high school experience and why she is so excited to co-lead the program.  Check back next Wednesday to hear from Katie.

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My first day of high school was in August of 2001. I feel old just saying that, even though I’m only 24. Despite the fact that it has been a decade since I started high school and six years since I graduated, I can still remember what it felt like to be a high school student struggling with anxiety and depression. I remember how even with my close group of friends and loving family, I didn’t feel I could share with them what I was going through. I didn’t understand why I felt anxious and sad when, for the most part, my life was good. I had great grades, played sports, spent the majority of my free time with friends and family. I had a car, two jobs, and a boyfriend.

And yet I was uncomfortable in my own skin.

I was scared. Unsure. Frustrated. Confused.

I also didn’t know this was something a lot of other people were going through. For some people, high school is a place where they feel alive, flourish, and achieve. For others, it’s a struggle, a land of bullies and loneliness.

TWLOHA has answered thousands of messages from high school students over the years. There have been sad stories and happy stories. Our hearts have both ached and rejoiced. Your words motivated our team to create a program specifically for high school students. The Storytellers is important because it actively engages high school students to share their story, talk about the things often kept in secret, bring the TWLOHA message to their campus, and most importantly, live life with other people. I feel lucky to be a part of making those things a reality.

—Chloe

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We believe in the power of high school students. You all have a voice that can change your communities. We hope you will join us for the first term of The Storytellers or pass this along to someone you know that might be interested (in case you’re not in high school anymore).

The idea is simple: invite people who are passionate about TWLOHA, who have a unique platform every day of the school year, to tell our story.  You, the high school students, get to use your creativity to decide how to tell the story, and we give you the resources to raise awareness and funds for an organization that matters to you.

Applications can be submitted here until January 15, 2012. The first term will begin on February 1, 2012 and conclude on May 15, 2012. You can find more specific information here. For any questions, please read our FAQ section, and if you don’t see an answer to your question there, please email thestorytellers@twloha.com.

With Love,
Chloe and Katie

P.S. We’re proud to announce the first 75 high schools accepted into The Storytellers. Two countries and 29 states, as far as Alaska, are represented in the list below.

Welcome, Storytellers. : )

North Mac High School
Mauston High School
Topsail High School
Gulf High School
The Visual and Performing Arts Center High School & Early College
Minarets High School
Western Reserve Academy
Bradford Area High School
Canyon Ridge High School
Eau Gallie High School
Buchholz High School
Regina High School
Hulett High School
Franklin Community High School
Alamogordo High School
Bluefield High School
Licking Heights High School
Soddy Daisy High School
Pueblo Central High School
George Washington High School
Hemet High School
Putnam County High School
Alvirne High School
West Islip High School
Andover High School
East Hall High School
Wrangell High School
Richmond High School
Coopersville High School
Dysart High School
Colorado High School
Lincoln Park Performing Arts Charter School
Marengo Community High School
Bergen County Academies
Morgan County High School
Decorah High School
Portal High School
Positive Outcomes Charter School
St. Elizabeth High School
Keith Country Day School
Mountain Vista High School
Greater Hartford Academy of the Arts
Kennett High School
River Hill High School
Perrysburgh High School
John Paul II Catholic High School
Felicity-Franklin High School
Hermitage High School
Charter School of Wilmington
Bloomfield High School
Milton High School
Mountain View High School
East Rutherford High School
Blue Valley Northwest High School
Cole Valley Christian High School
Oakville High School
Pinckney Community High School
Scranton High School
AlWood High School
Celebration High School
Sherman High School
South Sumter High School
Oklahoma Christian School
North Davidson High School
Western Branch High School
Methacon High School
Udall High School
Billerica Memorial High School
Serrano High School
Lewis and Clark High School
école Secondaire Cochrane High School
Mackenzie Mountain School
Central Collegiate
Delta Secondary School
Burnaby North Secondary School

Comments (18) | Posted in General, Journal by Chloe Grabanski

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This weekend, the TWLOHA team said goodbye to a very special group of people. It’s hard to even know what to write about the Fall 2011 Interns leaving; their contribution to TWLOHA as an organization and to our team has been monumental. They walked with us through a major transition, moving our office from Cocoa to Melbourne; they were our nomad interns, living in three very different houses between August and December; they answered a total of 1,814 messages during their time here, sharing a message of hope each time they clicked “send.”

And they just helped us win a $1 million grant that will help provide countless individuals with hope and healing, as well as treatment and recovery.

The Fall Interns were arguably the most diverse group of interns TWLOHA has ever hosted. But even though the six of them grew up on four different continents, they put their hearts and souls into this idea of community that is so important to this internship, and they have created something entirely unique and special for themselves: a group of people that will fight for each other and continue to choose to do the hard work of loving one another. And they have the tools to take the principles of building healthy community back to their homes.

Thank you Raquel, Abi, Barry, Joel, Lindsey, and Jeung Hwa for spending these months with us. Our hearts break as you leave us, but we take joy in knowing that you have become a part of our TWLOHA family during your time here. Even as we say goodbye, we know that you are not leaving entirely. The effect you’ve had on us cannot be erased, and we’re definitely okay with that.

Emmi
Intern Program Director

Comments (2) | Posted in General, Journal by Emmi Scott

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At the beginning of the Fall 2011 Intern Term, the interns, Nichole, and I spent a day at UCF’s Challenge Course. We played team-building games, practiced trust falls, and tackled low and high element challenges. That day, I saw interactions that made my little community-building Intern Program Director heart sing. I saw a group of six people, collectively from four different continents, who had met each other just weeks before, form into a cohesive, supportive unit and respond to one another with patience, grace, and love. They have carried that with them through their entire term. With a few major moves and the American Giving Awards, they have had more than enough challenges to overcome as a group. And I am proud to have watched these extraordinary people learn and grow in the midst of those challenges, both individually and collectively. Below, one of our Fall interns Lindsey shares her perspective of our day on the Challenge Course and the way that it has woven itself through the rest of the term.

--Emmi
Intern Program Director

I have always been fascinated with high places. Something about the phrase “bird’s eye view” captivates me. Maybe it’s tied to my wanderlust and the illusion of freedom that heights provide, maybe I just like the complete change in perspective of being up high. Either way, I was excited about our merry TWLOHA band of six interns and two staff members traipsing off to UCF to tackle the ropes course. 

What we experienced during that trip far exceeded any expectations I could have had. I saw people struggling with basic trust falls allow themselves to be lifted over the heads of the rest of the group. I saw people whose lips were itching with the words “I can’t do it” push through until they succeeded. I saw people paralyzed with fear and blinded by tears walk across wires solely on the knowledge that they had seven other people behind them 100 percent. I saw a group of people who had only a few days earlier become too fast friends bond into a cohesive unit – a supporting, encouraging community. A family.  But mostly, forty feet in the air on finger thick wires, I saw eight perspectives change.  In those moments, I understood the things TWLOHA says in a completely different way. We are not alone. We are not meant to do these things on our own. Maybe in life we don’t have a safety net, but harness or no the easiest way to walk the wire is with two other sets of shoulders to lean on.

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As I reflect back on these words I wrote at the very beginning of our term, I can see now that in many ways, though I didn’t know it at the time, it served as an indication of what the rest of this four-month experience would hold. Community is hard. People and relationships are hard. I don’t know if I had an accurate understanding in August of just how hard these things are, but together the six of us have tripped and stumbled through this thing called community building. There were times when it didn’t seem possible -- didn’t seem worth conflicts and tears. Times when we stood on the ground, gazing up at the obstacle course forty feet in the air, wondering how we could ever come out victorious, how we could ever come out whole and unscathed. But this was because we had no idea that while we stood safely on the ground, six individuals filled with our own ideas and expectations, we were far from “whole.” Maybe we didn’t realize we could come out on the other side of it more complete than we started.

I learned something very important over these last few months. I learned something while I watched people begin to tap into an inner strength they never knew resided in them, while I watched people learn how to let themselves be loved, while I watched people make some of life’s biggest decisions and allow themselves to trust and be supported by our newborn community. 

I learned that when it comes right down to it, you are the one that has to decide to step down onto that tiny wire. You are the one that has to take a deep breath, set your jaw, and trust yourself. 

The decision is only yours. 

No one else is going to move your foot for you, no one else is going to take that first step. And that can be terrifying.  But there is a world of difference between taking the step “on your own,” and taking it “alone.” How much easier is it to step onto that wire when you see a handful of others taking their own first steps on their separate wires? How much easier is it to overcome the obstacle, to put one foot in front of the other, when you step with eyes locked on a friend’s who has just conquered it themselves? How much quieter is the sound of your own fear, when your ears are filled with the encouragement and love of the rest of your community? 

Albus Dumbledore says, “It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” It was our choice, standing there on the ground not so long ago as six individuals in awe of the insurmountable course in front of us. Six choices were made that day that community was worth it, that maybe we wouldn’t claim victory but that staying on the ground was uncomfortably safe. Six people chose a change in perspective, and we have gained more than we ever thought possible.

--Lindsey
Fall 2011 Intern

Comments (3) | Posted in General, Journal by Lindsey Gough

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You know those things in your life that sit in the pit of your stomach and stay buried in the back of your mind? Those things you carry with you always and are afraid to share with others? That’s what this is.

I’ve tried to write this countless times over the past three years. I’ve sat down at a desk with pen and paper, had my computer open in my lap, and drafted sentences in my head. There is never an easy way to write about the hard stuff, but as June 20, 2011 looms ahead of me, I’ve decided to try again with what has been the hardest step.

“I am a Survivor.”

I’ve never liked saying that. Acknowledging it. Admitting it. In saying those four words I have to own the fact that what happened, actually happened. But as the three-year-mark of my sexual assault fast approaches, I think I’m finally ready to believe that I am a survivor. There were days and moments that I never thought those words would be true. Times when I wanted to give up and say, “I can’t do this.” In those moments, I really did feel that way.

In the weeks after my assault I wasn’t living. I was alive, breathing and making some sort of attempt at coping with it. But often it was not in the healthiest of ways. I didn’t know how to deal with who I was. I’ve always been independent and strong-willed (some would say hard-headed) but before my assault I was also pretty happy. I had struggled with anxiety and depression in high school and my first year of college but overall I felt like I was living in a good place. I had just finished another semester of college, was working a great job and spending my free time with family and friends. Then in one night I was no longer me. I became what someone else made me. I was made a victim because of a choice someone else decided to make. And coping with that wasn’t something I knew how to do.

So I did what I could. I woke up each day. I walked my dog. I read. I breathed.

I’ve never been a big fan of labels but have happily worn “daughter,” “student,” “friend,” “girlfriend,” etc. in my life. “Victim” and “survivor” were certainly two I never wanted to add to that list. Unfortunately, in life we don’t always have control over the things that happen to us. I have always been the kind of person who owns my decisions and faces their consequences (good or bad). The fact that having my choice taken away from me was completely outside of my control is something I’ve struggled with by myself, in counseling, and in sharing with others.

Two months after my assault I got a phone call. It was an invitation to come to Florida. I had applied for the TWLOHA internship in January and was being invited to join their second intern group. Given everything I had going on I probably should have stayed home. But I knew in my heart that I got that call for a reason and I was meant to go. The first few months in Florida reminded me of the person I had been before the attack. I was able to actually share what happened to me, and acknowledge the fear I felt in doing so.

As you are reading this, know that many of my friends and family will be finding out for the first time. Part of what took me so long to share this was the fear of how they would see me. Will they think I’m fragile? Broken? Damaged goods? Unfortunately that is a possibility, but most likely they will still see me as me and love me unconditionally. I learned I had to stop treating myself like a glass shell if I didn’t want other people to either. On a regular basis I debate sharing my assault with the new people who come into my life. When is it appropriate to let a new friend in on a painful part of your past? How many dates do I wait to tell the guy sitting across from me what happened? Right away? After six months? In two years?

I haven’t figured the answers out to those questions, but I have been truly amazed at the kindness of strangers and new friends I’ve opened up to. They don’t see me as damaged goods. They don’t see me as broken. They see a girl who is trying to make peace with a horrible thing she had no control over. And while June 20 is something that I wish with everything in me had never happened, I work each day to make peace with the past. I try to find comfort in knowing each new day brings me further from it.

To say that walking through my assault was a battle is an understatement. But I have been able to with the help of family, close friends and my counselor. If you or someone you know has been sexually assaulted please know that help is out there and that it does get better. This is not your fault. Those words don’t change what happened, but they are true. In the aftermath, the outcome seemed pretty bleak, but as I slowly allowed myself to fall back into a routine and talk to a counselor things got better. I started to be comfortable again in things that had never bothered me previously. I stopped being afraid to walk alone outside at night. I could sleep in a house alone. My panic attacks subsided. It didn’t happen over night, but it did happen. If this is something that has happened to you please, please talk to someone. Don’t hide this. Don’t live in the pain.  We have resources on our find help section, or you can visit RAINN.

There are days where it feels like it happened yesterday, and days where it feels like it was three years ago. But then there is today, and it feels like a quote from one of my favorite books:

“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees – just as things grow in fast movies – I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer."

-F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

With Love,
Chloe

Comments (63) | Posted in General, Journal by Chloe Grabanski

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Denny Kolsch is a TWLOHA staff member with a powerful story of healing and recovery.

Comments (33) | Posted in General, Journal by Chloe Grabanski

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What a busy and exciting season it’s been! As summer begins to gain momentum and spring draws to a close, we wanted to give you guys a recap of our very exciting spring conference series and all the wonderful experiences we’ve been able to share as a team.

As some of you know, we recently held three MOVE Community Conferences during our spring conference season, visiting Austin, TX at UT Austin during the film and interactive week of SXSW; heading to Los Angeles, CA to host a conference at a very cool, old movie theater in downtown Hollywood; and then wrapping up in a gorgeous historic church in New York City, NY. These conferences were our largest ever, drawing in over 200 attendees from the US and Canada! And these conferences were unique because we were able to work with a partner organization for the first time.

Seven months ago, we were invited out to Los Angeles by the production company Participant Media to view a movie called The Beaver. We honestly didn’t know what to make of the title or the synopsis – a story about a father’s crippling depression that causes him to find solace and expression through a beaver puppet in order to gain control of his life – but we were eager to learn more. What we learned was that Jodie Foster had produced and directed a wonderful film that explores the truth about how mental illness can impact a family, damage relationships, and cause pain and confusion. However, while it’s true that mental illness affects more than the person struggling, this movie also reminds viewers that hope is inherent in the struggle for those who seek to find it, and that redemption is possible for all people in the midst of that type of pain.

The Participant Media folks became fast friends as our partnership developed into what their company calls a “social action campaign.” In each campaign, an organization is chosen to benefit financially from the movie’s advertising budget, in order to meet people on a ground level in ways that directly connect with each film the company produces. Our MOVE Community Conferences were a perfect fit because of our effort to educate community members who are passionate about understanding and speaking into the topic of mental health, and erasing the stigma and shame that surrounds those issues.  It is our hope that those who attend MOVE would become true catalysts for change in the cities and regions they’re from.

Because of our partnership with Participant Media, and their gracious $60,000 grant, we were able to host three entirely revamped conferences. With a much larger budget, we were able to print brand-new, beautiful materials, update our curriculum, hire an additional counselor named Alison to interact with attendees alongside counselors Aaron and Michelle Moore, bring multiple TWLOHA staff members to each event, rent large, beautiful venues, and use film clips from The Beaver to bring some of our teaching points to life in a new way. Not only that, but the support we experienced from within the film community was incredible. It encouraged us so much to learn that there are people working within Hollywood to push for a more accurate glimpse into the reality of mental illness. Like we so often say, you are not alone in your story. We were reminded that there are so many people in the film industry who understand pain, addiction, mental illness and stories that end too soon. And that they’re working hard to do something about it.

At the premiere of the film, a few of us had the privilege of “walking the red carpet” and experiencing the movie in a theater of anxious moviegoers. Listening to Jodie Foster speak to her motivation behind making the film was a gift. We were impressed by her honesty and understanding about the reality of the pain and hope possible in the mental health community. She expressed over and over again how passionate she is about mental health in her personal life and on the screen.

Jodie said that the story had a balance of lightness and heaviness, and the challenge was in sharing something so heavy with the appropriate levels of humor and wit that accompany the pains and joys of our struggle. She said, “For me, it’s a very personal film, and it has to do with all of my struggles, all the things I think about obsessively, and where I’m at in this particular point of my life. And I think the graduation speech [at the end of the film] really sums up the final message of the movie, which is that we all have these struggles, and that life is full of the half-comedy and half-tragedy. And really, the only way to get through it is to know you’re not alone. And that connection is the one thing that makes the loneliness of this life bearable.”

Sitting in the theater proved why TWLOHA had been chosen to play a role in this social action campaign. Everything Jodie spoke about in reference to mental health was exactly the message we strive to share on a daily basis. Our MOVE Community Conferences are just one of the many ways we help fight against this stigma of silence. We have our MOVE attendees to thank for that! Each conference is incredible because it is full of people who seek to become leaders in their communities. People who want to make sure help is available locally, and that people seeking to find answers would know it’s ok to ask. And our hope is that we are able to continue partnering with organizations, businesses and companies who care deeply about people joining together to support one another when life takes a confusing turn.

As we look ahead to the future, we are excited to share that we will be holding three more MOVE Community Conferences before the end of 2011. We are taking the summer off to plan for the fall, so anticipate new cities and dates in the coming months. Keep an eye on the website for updates.

As always, you are welcome to email us with questions at move@twloha.com. We love hearing from you.









Kaitlyn
Director of MOVE Community Conferences

Comments (1) | Posted in General, Journal by Kaitlyn Suveg

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Today is Yom Ha-Shoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day. A day steeped in the deepest of contrasts where we seek to honor the lives and souls of six million people, but doing so in whispers so to keep their lives sacred.

Back in college, I participated every year in a reading of the names. This reading would go on for twenty-four hours as candles burned, and we would recite names and ages of those who have left us.

Yacov Gottlieb, age 32

Channa Gottlieb, age 27

Abram Gottlieb, age 4

"Baby" Gottlieb

Names of an entire family, existing now in hushed and choked utterances.

There's an irony there...almost an innate refusal to acknowledge such tragedies, but to let this event escape our collective memory is to tread on some very dangerous ground. For many survivors of the Holocaust, it is literally unimaginable to try to remember those years, and yet they are driven to. I was honored to have spent a few hours with a survivor a couple years ago. He spoke of being sustained by dreams of something better. He said he was fed by scraps, yet nourished by hope.  This was a man who had to erase the word "never" from his vocabulary. He said that word exists at the root of all pain. The second we believe that a tragedy could never happen is the same moment where we drop our guard. Conversely, if we believe that joy will never return, we squelch that divine spark that resides in us all that represents the fight.  Nietzsche once said (popularly quoted by Viktor Frankl) "he who has a 'why' can bear almost any 'how.'" That is to say, we are capable of enduring just about anything if we can identify a reason, a dream, a person, or ideal to fight for.

Only a generation or two separates us from one of the worst seasons in human history, where countless individuals were trapped in a literal and daily fight for their lives. But if you had a chance to talk to a survivor, they would tell you that the fight is far from over. Atrocities against human dignity are happening today. Uganda, Rwanda, and Darfur, the sex trade (both domestic and abroad), addiction, AIDS, human rights, and mental health. These are all issues that demand our attention. These efforts must extend past simple awareness campaigns, and words must be coupled with action.

Perhaps one of the greatest lessons to be learned from one of our darkest chapters is that your life matters. The entire cannon of our existence can boil down to the fact that the thoughts in your head and the dreams that you swear could be real make you sacred. The foundational crime of the Holocaust was that people, human beings, were forced to accept the lie that they were somehow less than human. Today is a rally cry for the human spirit. Today is a starting point, where we can vow to not let discomfort stand in the way of affirming one another. A day where we can celebrate that this world is a different and better place for the simple fact that you call it home, and where we dance to the unheard rhythm of your heartbeat.  Take time today to find ways to validate this in one another. Tip a janitor, pay for a stranger's coffee, open the door for a complete stranger, leave a friendly message on a phone, or in a book, or in the pollen of an unwashed car. There is so much more that connects us than could ever separate us.

In the constant memory of the six million, I stand for those who have ever felt less than "worth it." You are priceless, and I hope that you feel that today.

ברוך דין האמת
Chad  

Comments (15) | Posted in General, Journal by Chloe Grabanski

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Today is our interns' last official day in the TWLOHA office. This day always seems to be the hardest for our team because we have to say our goodbyes to six people we’ve worked alongside and relied on for the past four months. But the hardest thing about it is that we are not just saying goodbye to interns, we are saying goodbye to six members of our family.

We are so incredibly grateful for every project they’ve helped with, every event they’ve worked, and every message they’ve compassionately responded to. At the end of the term we look back and get to see the total number of lives that our interns have encouraged, inspired and cared for. Over the past four months, there were 1,983 messages that our interns shared the message of love and hope, and the most powerful thing is that there were 1,983 people behind each of these messages. Some of these messages were of heartache, pain and struggle, but many were of recovery, healing and strength. It's always a mix. 

As the hours count down, we are just so thankful for the moments of honesty, encouragement and beauty our interns brought into our office every single day. It’s not an easy thing to work and live with six strangers, but our interns have done it with grace. There were hard times with moments of conflict, but there were also moments of laughter, excitement, and the best of humanity on display for us to see.

On behalf of the TWLOHA staff, I want to thank Kelsey, Alyssa, Brendan, Kevin, Amanda and Joe for everything they’ve done while in Cocoa and for being apart of our TWLOHA family. We are so grateful to be a part of your story and we can’t wait for the next chapter. 

With Love,
Lindsay Kolsch
Intern Program Director

Comments (7) | Posted in General, Journal by Chloe Grabanski

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Chloe reflects on her time in Europe.

I’ve always heard that an international trip requires months and months of planning. There are cell phone plans to be changed, key foreign words to learn, and travel adapters to be bought. From what I understand, usually everything is very calculated and mapped out, but if there is anything I’ve learned during my two and half years with TWLOHA, it’s that things don’t always happen the “usual way.” What was supposed to be a five-day vacation in Europe to visit my friend turned into a really incredible opportunity for us as an organization. We were invited to join Crown Jewel Defense on tour in Europe where they would be opening for Young Guns and All Time Low. We were asked to come along on their first ever tour because they believe in what we are doing, and want to help spread the message of TWLOHA. 

After several emails and phone calls, my plane ticket was changed and I had to be ready to fly to London in twenty-two very short hours. The tour would start in Brussels in Belgium, then continue on to Amsterdam in the Netherlands, Hamburg and Berlin in Germany and end in Vienna, Austria. I had never been to Europe and I couldn’t believe I’d have the opportunity to experience so many different cities on my first trip there. But, as exciting as that was, it wasn’t why I wanted to go. A lot of people think going on tour means you get to “see” a lot of the places you are. But it’s actually quite the opposite. For the most part, you see the venue and the city within a two-block radius before you head to the next show the following day. So while I knew it would be neat I would be able to say I had been to each of those cities, my reason for going was much greater and had to do with people. I decided to go because of you guys. 

Every day we receive emails and messages from people asking us to come to their town. And despite not being able to go everywhere we want to, our hearts are still in the small towns of Nebraska and the Russian tundra. So my purpose for going was the opportunity to meet our European supporters face-to-face. I couldn’t wait to put faces to the comments, messages and tweets from people in these far-away cities who frequently ask us to bring TWLOHA across the Atlantic. I wanted to hear their stories, hearts, answer questions and open up a dialogue. Given the short notice I was worried people wouldn’t be able to join us for informal meet and greets in each city. But I should have known better. Within minutes there was an abundance of emails from people asking for details and how long we’d be there. 

I didn’t know how similar, and yet different Europe would be from the United States. I was shocked that nearly everyone I encountered spoke English in addition to the standard language of spoken in their country. I felt understood, and could communicate with people, which is important when you’re in an unfamiliar place. One of the first supporters I met asked me, “Do people look different here?” And the answer is no. The biggest difference I noticed and felt was how relaxed everyone seemed. 

Europeans seem to embrace the calm. You can sit in a café for hours and never be interrupted by the server. Time doesn’t seem to be of great importance. I was never rushed, or hurried by anyone. As someone who is glued to my BlackBerry, not having a phone was a foreign experience for me.  When I went to my first coffee shop I was confused and at first frustrated why the waiter didn’t practically demand my order a few moments after sitting down, or bring me the check after my first few sips of coffee. In recent years I’ve noticed America seems to be more worried about quantity instead of quality. I didn’t find that to be true in Europe.

During each meet and greet I was able to fully engage in conversation with each of the supporters that joined me because they weren’t in a rush either. Everyone around me was focused on the present, and living in the moment, instead of worrying about what they had to do in the next few hours, days and weeks. A very basic concept I didn’t realize I myself had gotten so far away from prior to this trip. And to be honest, something I’ve practically abandoned all together. Something I wasn’t aware I was missing. 

The entire trip was such an amazing experience because of the people I was fortunate enough to meet. I sat with four girls at a café in Amsterdam and we laughed about the simple things in life. I had a heavy conversation with two girls in Hamburg, one of which had lost their father to suicide four years ago. In Berlin six of us sat in a café hiding from the cold and talked about ways to bring awareness to mental health issues in Europe. Being established with offices internationally is something we dream of doing, and something we aspire to have one day. Something I hope to be a part of because now that I’ve met so many of our international supporters and I’ve seen the places those messages come from it is not something I can easily let go of or forget about. 

Europe, you are wonderful. I miss your beautiful cities, amazing coffee, the new friends we made and everyone I was fortunate enough to meet. I hope all of our international supporters know how much you mean to us, and that we hope we see more of you very, very soon.

With love,
Chloe

Comments (15) | Posted in General, Journal, Music by Chloe Grabanski

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I’d like to start off with a confession: I’ve always been pretty bad about the whole “optimism” thing. That’s not to say that I don’t believe in hope, because I do. It’s just that I think that hoping for “the best” or in redemption is different than expecting the best. I’ve never been able to turn a blind eye to reality. I do find beauty in honesty, even, and especially, when that honesty feels a bit fractured.

We live in a funny time, and we’ve spoken about that in the past, that the Internet has radically affected the way we see and interact with the world around us, and perhaps most greatly changed how we see and interact with other people. Social media profiles have become the lens through which we experience life. We pick our “hottest” pictures to represent ourselves, and we find or create the right label to express our views. We throw our hearts out there, pretending that 140 characters can accurately sum up what makes us tick. Perhaps the worst thing is that we have bought the lie that we are worth the collective thoughts of our “friends” and “followers.”  In all of this, I think that we’ve abandoned a crucial truth – that to speak into someone else’s life is, and always has been, a privilege. Not a right.

This tour has carried me to a variety of cities, but I had circled the Seattle date on my calendar long ago, and I think that that is mostly due to the anticipation I felt of getting to revisit the pieces of my heart that I have left in the care of my friends who live there. Seattle brings to mind the idea of “vulnerable love,” which is the bravest of all loves, where love is best expressed as a privilege. Vulnerable Love, enables us to open up, knowing full well that conversations will be difficult, or that confessions may be greeted with a flinch, but in the end knowing that nothing will hinder the mutual respect you share in those whom you place your trust. Vulnerable Love is one that stands in the same category as music. One that speaks not out of rebellion, but rather in seeking revolution. This love moves constantly, there is no room for the stagnant. It understands that hugs can’t make everything OK, but dammit, I am going to squeeze you harder than ever because I can’t stand the thought of you thinking you’re alone in that moment.

I felt this Vulnerable Love other night, and while leaving Seattle is always hard for me, that morning was especially difficult.  Being on tour isn’t glamorous. Don’t get me wrong, there are parts of touring that I wouldn’t trade for anything, but while I get to be in a new city every day, that also means that I have to leave that new city the next day. Conversations don’t travel on interstates very well. Heaviness sits with things left unsaid, and unresolved conflicts travel with me. 

Seattle brought a mixture of emotion. I was able to see some dear friends, but hear hard news about their lives. I spent 30 minutes with a homeless man, hearing his story and listening to his soulful, gritty songs, but a minute later his booze-induced forgetfulness fueled a new introduction to me where he made up a completely new story about his life. I was able to connect with a bar owner who, upon finding out about us for the first time (and will be celebrating 7 years sobriety in March), loved our message of hope, but then talked for nearly an hour with someone who struggles with these issues and said she had only “heard” about us, and thought we only sell shirts and prey on perceived weakness. Beneath her steadily raising voice was a deep concern that maybe this situation was indeed hopeless.

This last interaction struck me hard and continues to travel with me, and for those of you who feel like you’re in a moment, or season, or year of hopelessness, know that I am with you. Those moments when you feel like forcing a smile is the biggest lie you’ve ever told, know that we are with you. You don’t have to fear honesty, or feel wrong for not subscribing to optimism. We aren’t intimidated by your questions.  Your voice is beautiful and your breathing serves as a protest to all that is holding you down. You can scream at the darkness, make it afraid of your life, and we will be there cheering you on.

We deserve to be known. Our battle is not one of heroism, where we must pass through our valleys alone. We are here to extend Vulnerable Love. The young woman I mentioned earlier spoke to me in honesty, and what started out as uncomfortable soon became very special. There wasn’t a happy ending, or a grand resolution in this conversation, but she did tell me that she enjoyed the chance to talk plainly about these matters. I couldn’t help but smile when she continuously interrupted me saying, “Stop telling me what ‘we’ believe… Tell me what YOU think.” 

And thus, I believe that we are more than the banners we operate under, be it religion, or geography, or age, or philosophy, or our favorite non-profit. We are what we express of ourselves in honesty, and it’s worth every bit of fight necessary to find where our voice can be heard and honored. So fight. And don’t think you’re fighting alone.  Use your voice, your passions, and your friends. The true friends who you can’t wait to see again.

Hope is not always expected, but that’s what makes it so much more beautiful in the end.

Chad

PS: TWLOHA info and merch will be out on the rest of the Jarrod Gorbel tour. Check out the list of cities below to see if we're coming close to you.
San Antonio, TX
Austin, TX
Houston, TX
Dallas, TX
Fayetteville, AR
Lawrence, KS
St. Louis, MO
Newport, KY
Columbus, OH
Pittsburgh, PA

Comments (19) | Posted in General, Journal by Chad Moses

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Over the course of the last year, I have had the privilege of watching the TWLOHA University Chapters program grow and develop into a community of students from all over North America who care for and love others. This community is extraordinary. Through organized meetings and events, each chapter serves as a voice of hope, inspiration, and support for students and their surrounding communities. Their dedication to raising awareness, investing in others, and living honest lives has been a daily affirmation of the work that I do in Cocoa, FL.

That's why this past fall it was so exciting to watch our program experience the most growth it has seen since its inception. We added 17 new chapters to the database and received just as many applications to begin the registration process. The desire to spread hope and help to others through the UChapter program is spreading through America, into Canada, and perhaps across the world.

We would like to take a moment to recognize and welcome the newest chapters to join our team since our last update in October. If any of these chapters are near you or at your school, we encourage you to email them and find out how to get involved.

Arizona State University (twloha.asu@gmail.com)
Cornell University (twloha.cornell@gmail.com)
Pittsburg State University (twlohapittstate@gmail.com)
Portland State University (twlohaportlandstate@gmail.com)
Oral Roberts University (twloha.oru@gmail.com)

All other chapter contact information can be found on our website.

Many of our chapters have already started planning for their spring events and there are some really neat things in the works. From benefit concerts to art exhibits, discussion forums to prevention and awareness walks, these events and activities reach out to their campuses and invite students into important conversations about these  previously ignored topics. The young leaders in our chapters have taken great pride in creating places on campus where students feel safe, valued, and cared about through these events. We are excited to be able to continue sharing their accomplishments and goals with you.

I hope that through their excitement you will find inspiration and a yearning to be a part of this community. To learn more about TWLOHA University Chapters and how you can get involved or start one on your campus, please visit www.twloha.com/move/uchapters or email chapters@twloha.com. We hope to hear from you soon.

With Hope,
Holly

P.S. You can also keep up with our chapters by following the TWLOHA UChapters blog on Tumblr

Comments (7) | Posted in General, Journal by Chloe Grabanski

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This blog was originally an email sent to the TWLOHA staff. This past week was difficult. It seemed that we couldn't open our email without the news of another suicide, and we were all beginning to feel the weight of the reality of these tragedies. As a team, hearing these stories never gets easier. Like anyone, we can find ourselves feeling drained and wondering about our purpose as an organization. This blog comes from that difficult place, when I remembered why we exist.

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While our inboxes continue to accumulate links to articles about people around the country dying by suicide, I try to remember why we fight.

In the battle against suicide there are lives lost, and sometimes they aren’t recognized until the war is over. When the battle feels never-ending, we ask ourselves why we started fighting in the first place. We get in a pattern, and all we see are the number of brothers and sisters by our side growing fewer and fewer. We can lose hope and wonder, what's the point in going forward? Where is our encouragement? Are we actually doing anything to make this world a more hopeful place? What good are we doing? Why should I even bother getting out of my bed when I’ll get to the office and I’ll open my inbox to see another seven articles about lives lost the day before.

But I am reminded of this truth: We have reason.

"You saved my brother from taking his life."

"My daughter wouldn't still be here if it weren’t for you guys."

"My dad is gone, but I'm hopeful in being a part of something that doesn't leave another family in the place I was in. I'm glad you're here."

These are our letters from home. These are our reminders. This is our motivation to go on another day. This is the reason we started this fight in the first place. We are reminded that our words have purpose, and they can bring hope in a moment where all feels lost and broken. And we believe this for your words, too.

We do this for those who can't bring themselves to talk to a friend because they think they're the only one dealing with the weight in their chest and the things in their head. We are here to let them know they're not. And when we lose someone close to us, or only know a name and see a picture, we mourn them. We remember them and we celebrate their lives, but we don't stop our fight for them. For them, their family, their friends... We fight. We have to. We have no other option. This message of hope stirs something in people that points to something true, something bigger than us. This is why we continue to get out of our bed in the morning when we're faced with this much loss.

In something that is so much bigger than us, we have each other. I wouldn't want to be in this alone, and we should all fight with people by our side.

We’re thankful we get to spend these days with you. You are loved.

Comments (106) | Posted in General, Journal by Chris Youngblood

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Chloe reflects on Bamboozle Roadshow

“I lost my cousin to suicide three days ago.” - West Palm Beach, FL

“My daughter cuts and I don’t know why.” - Arlington, TX

“I’m schizophrenic and have been suicidal for the past few years, but I have hope." - Houston, TX

“My best friend is going into treatment this week. She’s been going in and out of centers for the past four years. I just want to help her.” - San Antonio, TX

“I’m bipolar and I passed it on to both my children.” - Clarkston, MI

“All I want to do is stop. Everyone is scared but I don’t know what to do.” - Charlotte, NC

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Thank you. I wish there was something deeper or more profound to say to those of you who visited the TWLOHA table and shared your story at The Bamboozle Roadshow this year. But nothing feels like it’s quite enough or conveys how truly grateful my heart is for having met all of you. The comments above are just a few of the many stories I was fortunate enough to hear during the six-week tour.

The main reason we go on the road so much is to meet people where they are – to hear their hearts, and to present them with the idea, sometimes new, sometimes not so new, that they don’t have to live their lives alone. One of the biggest honors for me (and I’m comfortable saying this for our team as well) is being someone that a complete stranger trusts enough to share their darkest moments with. It’s beautifully overwhelming to be a person someone feels safe talking to about their struggles after only a brief introduction of names. My hope is that in these exchanges they (and possibly you) feel a bit of freedom from pain, and a sense of understanding. I also hope that you are able to be on the receiving end of conversations like this, to be someone that someone else needs.

I left for this tour with a heavy heart and hoped that the road would make it light again. What I found out was something I already knew. It wasn’t the road that was making things easier, it was people; seeing old friends, making new ones, and meeting all of you. It was sharing TWLOHA and parts of myself with others. “Your story is important.” We say that a lot because it’s true. What you have to say, and what you’ve experienced deserves to be known by others.

I wish for you this summer, and all the days after, that you have someone to share your story with.

With Love,
Chloe

P.S. Thank you to Bamboozle for letting us join your traveling summer camp. Thank you to so many of the artists for being curious about what we do, for wanting to get involved, or for showing continued support. We’re grateful for our friends in Boys Like Girls, Forever The Sickest Kids, Third Eye Blind, LMFAO, The Ready Set, and Cady Groves who all rocked TWLOHA at some point during the tour. And a big thank you to my dear friend Martin of Boys Like Girls for wearing a TWLOHA shirt everyday of the tour and for all of your support.

Comments (18) | Posted in Journal, Merch, Music by Chloe Grabanski

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I grew up throwing dirt clods for sport and listening to Garth Brooks and Vince Gill on cassette tapes. Bare feet and dirt roads.When I was older, four-wheelers and trails through the woods. In high school, I was a part of the self-proclaimed redneck crowd, donned in Carhart coats, socializing around their oversized trucks with lift-kits. I still remember when my dad moved out when I was in second grade into another trailer across town. He had cable, and I was introduced to CMT and music videos. All that is to say, I was raised in the country on country music.

Though my musical tastes are broad, country music emanates this feeling of home. There is this unparalleled community that happens in the country music world. There is a shared history and love of the South and its culture, a fondness for simple pleasures in life, and the sweet twang—all of these things bringing musicians and fans together.

Jess and I share an office, so when she looked up the information about CMA Fest, I was the first to hear about it. My job is mostly administrative and doesn’t require me to go on the road very much, but I knew that if TWLOHA was going to be at CMA Fest I wanted to be there.  Of the fourteen people on staff, Jess, Chris, and I are the only country fans.  Chris is from Georgia, so it’s a part of his soul. Jess is a diehard fan and has adopted a bit of a twang. But we were sure it wouldn’t work, because summer is our busiest season, and TWLOHA has never been involved with the country music world at all.

Jamie and Rich said yes. Surprised but incredibly excited, Jess submitted our application.  The CMA Fest only has three or four nonprofits, a much smaller number than we’re used to so we were unsure whether or not we would get picked. Next thing I know, Chris is packing the back of the Jeep like a jigsaw puzzle while Jess, Emily, and I organize pillows, snacks, and music for the long drive to Nashville.  Although Emily wasn’t a big country fan before the festival, she left singing along to Lady Antebellum and Carrie Underwood (and is still laughing about Blake Shelton’s jokes).

I’ve been back for two weeks and I’m still smiling and singing Zac Brown Band’s “Free” with a majestic hope in my heart. I said the words, “we’re a nonprofit raising awareness about depression, addiction, self-injury, and suicide” with an info card in my hand and sweat trickling down my back 847 times, and I didn’t get tired of it. Some people politely listened feigning interest and others really heard me and tied a string from themselves to us because somehow our story was their story too.  

Peggy didn’t expect to be so drawn in. She stopped at the McDonald’s tent to get a snack for her granddaughter waiting at the picnic table when our funny name caught her eye. For the 321st time, I told a stranger who we are. Holding back tears, she told us about her niece Jeanie and how much Jeanie needed to know about us. “This is so Jeanie, all Jeanie,” she kept saying and shared how Jeanie has dealt with great loss and pain in the last year. Peggy walked away and wasn’t a stranger anymore.  

The next day, Chris was helping a petite soft-spoken woman with her blonde hair cropped just above her shoulders who was learning about us for the first time. I came up when she was paying for her Love is the Movement shirt. Holding back tears and digging in her wallet, her gaze not meeting our eyes, she said she lost her brother to suicide. I said I was so sorry to hear that and Chris asked her name. Asking someone their name gives them this unspoken validation that they matter even though they may be a stranger. Through her smile, she said her name was Lisa, and I knew I would never forget her. She looked at me and said, “Mom and Dad have never been the same,” and I said, “Yeah, it changes everything—nothing and no one is ever the same.” She nodded, and I asked when her brother passed sure that it was within the past few months. Her voice cracked as she said, “1986.” I tried to contain my surprise. I haven’t lost someone to suicide, so I haven’t dealt with that kind of pain personally. Her brother has been gone longer than I have been alive, and her pain at losing him is still so fresh and real. She held up her shirt, bowed her head, and said thank you as she walked away, and I wonder who is more grateful that she stopped at our tent—her or us?

At CMA Fest during the day different zones are open and most of them free to the public, but at five booths start closing up for the night for everyone to get dinner and make the trek to LP Field across the bridge for the evening concerts. Passes to the concerts were included with our booth package, so each night we joined more than 40,000 people to sing and dance to our favorite country songs. Anyone who enjoys seeing live music knows the magic of being in a crowd of people, singing the same song at the top of your lungs and getting goose bumps. It doesn’t always happen that way in the nosebleeds, but during Keith Urban’s set it was inevitable.

In case you haven’t heard, Nashville had an awful flood the first weekend in May. Most of downtown Nashville (where CMA Fest is held) was under water.  In the beginning, the media didn’t give it much coverage and the city wasn’t getting help from the outside. But Nashville banded together, pulled themselves up and did what they had to do to get their city on its feet again. Restaurants spent their days making bag lunches and giving them away throughout the city, while other people worked to repair the damage. A little more than a month later, they were ready to host the first ever sold out CMA Fest.

Keith played his whole set, then he talked about Nashville and the flood. He talked about how proud he was to be a part of a city with such a strong community, how people joined together without thinking twice, and how important it was for all of us to be there at CMA Fest, how much Nashville needed us to come. He dedicated his next song to the city and the people and launched into a cover of “With a Little Help from my Friends” with Little Big Town. The performers at Heavy and Light this year also covered this song, but this performance had a different force, a different power, a different magic with images from the flood flashing on the screen behind the band. We stood and we sang and we rocked (yes, we still rock out in country music). In The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Charlie talks about this moment where he and his friends are singing together in the truck and he says he felt infinite (page 39), and this night, this song, this moment is infinite for all 40,000 of us.  

Depression doesn’t care if you wear a cowboy hat with Wranglers or skinny jeans with Converse shoes. I hope that through this small window into what may be a different world you see that this story may be your story too. It may look different and sound different, but pain is universal. Hope is too. That’s why we went because everyone is a part of this ongoing conversation. May your life look like this—where strangers become friends in an instant, where 40,000 people can feel like family, where a song and a few pictures become an infinite moment you want to tuck away so you can take it out again and again.

 So much love to all of you strangers reading this.
Know that there is someone down in Florida who believes in you.
Thank you for letting me be a part of your story.

whitney

Comments (12) | Posted in General, Journal, Music by Chris Youngblood

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This blog was written on June 4, 2010.

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It is Thursday (but technically Friday) and I am sitting in Union Station in downtown Los Angeles waiting for the 1:25 am bus to take me to Bakersfield to catch a train heading north to see my parents.

I have only been here once before, and it was for a brief moment when I ran past everything without really noticing anything. This time I have an extra hour before I need to leave, so I take the time to observe my surroundings.

Union Station is a beautiful old building full of decorative tiles and leather chairs and wood trim on the ceiling. It’s a place I imagine Winston Churchill or FDR enjoying because it’s what I picture being "exquisite" during their lifetimes.

Union Station is also a building full of people who don’t have homes, places to go, or people to share their stories with. Many of the faces you pass look just as weathered as the walls. As I sit in one of the old-fashioned, brown leather chairs, I notice a security guard walking around, gently waking people up and asking, “Can I see your ticket?” The response from the person is typically one of confusion, or a rustle of pockets yielding no money or ticket, followed by silence as the sleepy person walks out into the early morning. They all give the ticket man the same look: pain.

I quietly ask the security guard, “How do you do this everyday?”

“Eventually you just get used to it. It’s always the same.”

The words roll around in my mind for long time. I try to wrap my head around each of them, to somehow make sense of their meaning.

“It’s always the same.”

Why? It doesn’t have to be. We are not meant to live our lives in such brokenness. Every one of these people has a story, and each just as important. Why do we feel as if their lives are so drastically different from the security guard’s? And from my life. Or maybe yours too.

My heart aches for lonely, broken people. But also for the security guard, who has to send them away everyday, into a place where shelter may not meet them. And for the people who have a roof, and a bed, but still feel alone – my heart aches for you, and sometimes for me, because at times it feels lonelier in a crowded room than it does in an empty home.

So if that’s you right now, please know it is possible to find a place where you feel alive. You are meant for that. You deserve to have a place to go and rest. It may not involve a roof, but it will involve people. And in the sharing of your story with others, you give them permission to do the same.

With Love,

Chloe

Comments (9) | Posted in General, Journal by Chloe Grabanski

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Dear Today (or Yesterday as the case may be), I am thankful you happened.I believe I can confidently say that today was the best Memorial Day I’ve ever had.
The others were fine, but they were just days, the possibility of a break from school or work, and (if I remembered) for remembering people who have served in my place to protect a freedom I take for granted.
(And perhaps I am a horrible person for not remembering, but that is a different blog.)
But today, I remember.

Today, I remember we are broken creatures.
I remember our brokenness is not the end, that we can let the light in through the cracks.
I remember intersections mean that we are coming from different angles.
I remember to be thankful for the crossing.
I remember we must work to sew ourselves to each other.
I remember pulling the threads takes steady fingers and commitment.
I remember that roots are worth it, no matter how temporary.
And these are pretentious and varying metaphors, yet they completely capture my Memorial Day.

Today was made of a few good conversations leading me to all those conclusions.
Tonight, I sat at a picnic table with a woman I should, by all potential intersections, already know but didn’t until two weeks ago.
As the water steadily slapped the rocks and the clouds moved like a slideshow above us, we talked about Ms. Britt and Meredith College, our love for the most beautiful of the Carolinas, the strings that attach us to where we come from and where we’ve been, and the women we believe we’ve always been and are becoming more of everyday.
When I talked about feeling like my strings are tight and the strain hurts, she tilted my perspective. 
She reminded me that tight strings make for beautiful melodies and maybe my melody of this time will serve a purpose for someone else.
And maybe that doesn’t sound profound to you, reading this on a screen.
Maybe you need the darkness and streetlights and rock-slapping water to get the full effect, but for me, for tonight, she gave the metaphor a weight I needed to see.

And I remember why I wanted to come here.
It was for conversations like today, for the intentional and genuine curiosity of a stranger that plants the seeds of beautiful friendships.
It was for nights like tonight, where, despite the bugs and the heat and the humidity and the creepers, we were not leaving that fucking bench.
Days like today make me feel more alive and more myself.
And I remember my story is mine, and I choose how to tell it.
Dear Today, I needed you very much.

Love and hope and grace and peace to you on this Tuesday.
May you have days like this, where you write all the details because they are too good for the possibility of forgetting.
Thank you for reading.

whitney

PS: To read more of Whitney's writing, check out her blog.

Comments (17) | Posted in General, Journal by Chris Youngblood

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One of the great privileges of the last couple years has been spending more and more time on college campuses. Doors keep opening and invitations keep coming and we love to go, to lead a conversation that we believe in, to talk about things that don't normally get talked about - this problem of pain that perhaps we can all relate to. 

Comments (21) | Posted in General, Journal by jamie tworkowski

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HEAVY AND LIGHT 2009

Comments (20) | Posted in General, Journal, Merch, Music by jamie tworkowski

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If you find yourself on page 63 of the new Rolling Stone Magazine (Taylor Lautner of Twilight is on the cover), you will find the first of five pages dedicated to TWLOHA. It's an honor and exciting to say the least. That said, i must confess that i found the title a little awkward. (i am a surfer, i'm not a savior.) The story is not perfect but hopefully it's good.

When they said they wanted to photograph me in New York City, i asked if it might be okay to invite some friends. TWLOHA supporters came to Washington Square Park in NYC from as far away as Toronto, Virginia and Delaware. My hope was a photo that expressed the community and "we" spirit of TWLOHA. They went with something different but the video below captures the true spirit of the day - stories colliding and hope shared, people coming together... Thank you once again to our talented friend Dustin Miller for making this video and thank you to Rolling Stone for liking it enough to post it on their website.

Peace to you tonight.

jamie

PS: We've been working hard this week, adding to twloha.com.  We've added FINANCES and STAFF sections, and updated NEWS and MOVE.

PS2: We would love to know your thoughts.

Comments (28) | Posted in General, Journal by jamie tworkowski

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I guess some would say that I have been through a tragedy.  I say that I've been through a life-changing experience and that it has made me a better person.  I don’t like that T word - it's pretty harsh.  When Zeke died, I thought my life had ended.  In some ways it had.  I went through a whirlwind of emotions, some that I can’t even remember.  I had so many questions;  What did I do wrong?  What was he thinking?  why did he leave me?  Someone once told me that people that complete suicide are selfish - I’m not sure I agree.  Once someone is gone, it is easy to contemplate what they were thinking, and only think about the mess they left you with, and the struggles ahead.  But isn’t that selfish?  I mean this person just took their own life - I can’t imagine how they came to that conclusion, but I can only believe and hope it was not an easy one.  I quickly learned that I was the selfish one......I was so obsessed with why he chose to do this to me, but soon realized that he did this to himself; it was not about me.  That is hard to accept.  

When I talked to friends or family, they always told me “I know how you feel.”  Those words used to make me so angry. How did they know? They weren’t in my head, they didn’t find him in this horrible state, they didn’t lose the love of their life. They were able to go home at night. I had to go anywhere but home.  I began to get so bummed about that answer to my thoughts, I realized I needed help understanding the emotions I was going through.  I started seeing a therapist that helped me learn that everything I was experiencing was “normal.”  She told me that only I would know how to push through the sadness and learn how to grow.  Sometimes when I went to see her we never even talked about Zeke.  We would talk about the most random things - shopping, wine, going to the gym, work and sometimes the news.  At one of our meetings she said “I’m not going to let you avoid the subject, we need to talk about him.”  It was the first time that I broke down crying in front of anyone.  I’m not one that usually feels comfortable crying.  I don’t like people to see me that way.  I was surprised by my reaction, but I felt so much better.  I guess that sometimes when you keep things bottled up, those feelings can come out even stronger than ever.  I’m glad that it happened with her; she helped me open up and finally speak about what was going on in my head.

It is coming up on the anniversary of Zeke’s death, and I’m not sure what I will do.  I used to hang with friends and take way too many shots of tequila.  Probably over the past month, I have realized that I am drinking way too much.  I think I drink to hide my pain; I still miss him.  Wow, that is the first time I have admitted that.  At first I used to sleep with one of his dirty tee shirts so that I could have his scent with me; it helped me a bunch.  Then the smell went away.  After that I would drink to sleep.  The only way I could fall asleep was if I just passed out drunk.  It really wasn’t until lately that I thought I had a purpose without him.  It has taken me awhile to realize that.  Zeke inspired me to be creative.  We used to bounce off of each other's artistic abilities.  It was so funny when we would be getting ready to go out for an evening and we would be “that couple,” the ones that were dressed alike.  I used to tell him he had to back and change.  I used to paint, write, build, and design.  After his death, I had a hard time even picking up a paint brush, I didn’t know how to hold it in my hand.  Now I am slowly learning to keep his spirit in my heart, and create again.  I started writing down plans, sketching furniture, and painting pictures.  I used to be so on-the-go and not have time for anything, but now I am slowing down and doing things that are more fulfilling in my life.  So, I think that this January 5th, I am going to finish my projects I have started.  I am building a window seat box out of what used to be our bed, Zeke had built us a platform bed.  I will have it filled with his stuff and have a special place for me to sit and think about him, and be inspired.  I think I finally have been able to re-focus my energy into how to be happy, how to be me, without him.  I probably will stick to one of my rituals, visiting him at 1st street; bringing him a sunflower, and telling him I love him.   Then I will go back home and pick up my paint brush......I think I know how again.

- Nicole Orsargos

Comments (65) | Posted in General, Journal by jamie tworkowski

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i was in Virginia Thursday to speak at Old Dominion University in Norfolk. i got in early and had the chance to spend a few hours with my friend Nicole. Well, she feels like a friend now but the truth is i'd never met her before Thursday. Some of you have heard me talk or write about my friend Zeke, who died by suicide in January 2006. Zeke and i worked together at Hurley. Well, Zeke lived in Virginia Beach and Nicole was his girlfriend of more than three years when he died. She was the one who found him.

i'd traded emails with Nicole in recent weeks but never met her in person. We met for lunch on Thursday. i told her i wanted to eat where the locals eat and so she suggested a place by the Inlet. i pulled up a few minutes before her and the first thing i noticed was the word "Zeke" spray-painted on a wall near the restaurant's entrance. Zeke died over three and a half years ago and yet it was clear in that first moment that he has not been forgotten. 

As we ate, i asked Nicole a lot of questions about Zeke. He was good at everything. We smiled at the stories. She spoke of his quiet pain, unknown to most. i asked about the days since he died, how has she recovered, how has she survived... She spoke with strength and grace.  She said she's different now, doesn't buy "busy" as a way of life, says she's learned to slow down, to pause for the things that matter, for people and moments and conversations. She talked about her incredible friends and about going to counseling.

After lunch, i asked if she might show me around town - show me the places that were Zeke's, help me know his story. She said she would be happy to. We stood on the boardwalk at First Street, watching the cold waves break - Zeke was a great surfer and this was his. She pointed to the plaque on the end of the jetty, placed in the silence of the night, Zeke's friends saying his memory would stay with them always. 

She explained Virginia Beach, the surf shops and the bars and the characters that make it. She showed me the house that they shared. "We built a home together," she told me. 

That night, Nicole joined me on stage at Old Dominion, and for the first time ever, she spoke her story into a microphone. It was incredibly brave. Afterwards, people lined up to meet her, to thank her, to share what they found in her words. 

As we stood in the parking lot at the end of the night, she told me she was blown away, by the confessions that she heard, so many young people sharing their stories. i thanked her, said her words had been a gift for all of us in the room, encouraged her to keep sharing them.  She said she would like that.

i wish i could bring him back, this man she loved, this friend to so many... But the weight of suicide is it's permanence. Each of us, we are thousands of moments and choices and days. Zeke walked away from all of it that night in January.

We are left with the questions, with the weight of all the memories. The only sense that i can make of it is that Nicole now has a story to tell, that her words will serve as a gift to other people, her scars suggesting that they are not alone in their wounds, not alone in their questions and their remembering...  

Today is National Survivors of Suicide Day. If you've lost someone that you love, then we stand with you today. We say it matters, their story and yours, and we join you to remember. Please know that you are not alone.

To learn more about National Survivors of Suicide Day, please CLICK HERE.

Peace to you today.

jamie

PS: i wrote this a couple days after Zeke died, in January 2006...

Zeke Sanders: You Were Loved.

"I didn't know him well but this is what i knew: Zeke Sanders was hilarious and kind, small and huge in the same moment. He was humility and rock star, fashion and fishing, alive and encouraging and broken and hopeful and a thousand other things i'll never know. He was simple and complex. He was my friend. Something hopeful in me says he knows now how much he was loved. We will miss his smile, his laughter, his kindness, his tiny jeans and enormous shoes, made for wrestling. We will miss him tomorrow night when we set up, Sunday when we tear down, and Monday morning at Ian's, when it's too quiet. i don't know what else to say. i just have to believe that we are all more loved than we'll ever know. And we're all in this together."

Comments (36) | Posted in General, Journal by jamie tworkowski

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The mtvU Woodie Awards are tonight in NYC, a couple hours from now. Some of my favorite bands are nominated - Death Cab for Cutie, Kings of Leon, Phoenix... Ben Gibbard, Zoey Deschanel, Jack White and Pete Wentz will be in the room... 

Comments (21) | Posted in General, Journal, Music by jamie tworkowski

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We believe in stories. TWLOHA is perhaps a lot of things but among those, it's the story of a story that grew to be something more. Along the way, we've been given the opportunity to talk about things that millions struggle with but few talk about. It's a story of secrets shared and conversations over coffee and why songs matter. We've seen surprising doors open and most importantly, we've seen people find hope and help.

Another surprising door has opened... We can't reveal all the details but we would like to invite you into it:

A well-known photographer is taking some pictures next Saturday in New York City. The pictures are for a story that a magazine is doing on TWLOHA. The magazine is a pretty special magazine and it's safe to say that the story is a big one.

They want to take a picture of me and i asked if i could invite you and they said okay. It's going to happen in Manhattan. We don't know exactly where or what time just yet but we will know those details soon. There's a form you need to fill out if you want to participate in the shoot. If you send an email to nyc@twloha.com, we'll send you the form and we'll send you the info (when/where) as well. 

Here's the fine print: You don't get paid and your name won't appear in the magazine. But there's a chance you will get to be part of a group photograph that will appear in the magazine.

Also, we will hang out and we will drink hot chocolate.

Hope to see you Saturday in NYC. More info soon. Again, nyc@twloha.com is the address to write to if you're interested in being part of the photo shoot.

Peace to you.

jamie

PS / Update: The shoot will take place this Saturday at 12 NOON in Washington Square Park. 

Comments (15) | Posted in General, Journal by jamie tworkowski

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You are going to move through this.

- Anonymous 

Comments (238) | Posted in General, Journal by jamie tworkowski

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Today was a beautiful day.

Today I had the pleasure of having conversations that really matter. Sometimes I forget how blessed I am to be part of this movement—that not all organizations value stories to the point that they’ll allow for you to silence your phone, close your laptop and shut your mouth in the middle of a workday to listen and learn from another. I am thankful that in our office we are able to practice what we preach, to listen when needed, and share from the core of our being.

This morning I got to hear about the passions of a witty Scottish fellow. Our friend Stuart is currently visiting us from Scotland and has big dreams to make our presence in the UK a greater reality, and to impact those who wouldn’t naturally cross paths with To Write Love on Her Arms.

This afternoon I got to have lunch with my friend Justin. We smiled and laughed, and later shared some about hard realities as we sat behind office desks and wondered about the pain that comes with honesty and figuring out next steps.

This evening I ended my workday chatting with an author I admire; I was sitting at a desk in Cocoa, FL and he behind one in Portland, OR. It's so rare to read an author's work and also be able to exchange words in real-time. His name is Brian Doyle and he has an art for capturing truth with simple beauty and honesty. Last week I decided to email Jamie one of my favorite pieces of his, “Two Hearts.” I did this because Jamie recently gave each of our interns a copy of Rob Bell’s newest book, Drops Like Stars, as they leave us for summer and return to their communities to continue living out our mission and movement at home.

Rob’s website says, “It is the difficult and the unexpected, and maybe even the tragic, that opens us up and frees us to see things in new ways. Many of the most significant moments in our lives come not because it all went right but because it all fell apart. Suffering does that. It hurts, but it also creates.”

Today was a day in believing in stories, in the idea that confession and passion and honesty and forgiveness matter so much, but that questions and pain are a part of this growth process as well, part of the process of creating something new within each of us. And sitting here now, I can’t help but wonder if any of those rich conversations I got to have today has a greater significance.

Jamie and I wanted to share Brian’s story with you guys… So, take a few minutes to read it, enjoy it, and wrestle with it. Brian shares our belief that stories matter, and encouraged me over the phone that we should all strive to become better listeners and “story catchers” in our daily lives.

We hope your day feels beautiful.

Love.
Kaitlyn

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Two Hearts

By Brian Doyle 
from God is Love

Some months ago my wife delivered twin sons one minute apart. The older is Joseph and the younger is Liam. Joseph is dark and Liam is light. Joseph is healthy and Liam is not. Joseph has a whole heart and Liam has half. This means that Liam will have two major surgeries before he is three years old.

I have read many pamphlets about Liam's problem. I have watched many doctors' hands drawing red and blue lines on pieces of white paper. They are trying to show me why Liam's heart doesn't work properly. I watch the markers in the doctors' hands. Here comes red, there goes blue. The heart is a railroad station where the trains are switched to different tracks. A normal heart switches trains flawlessly two billion times in a life; in an abnormal heart, like Liam's, the trains crash and the station crumbles to dust.

So there are many nights now when I tuck Liam and his wheezing train station under my beard in the blue hours of night and think about his Maker. I would kill the god who sentence him to such awful pain, I would stab him in the heart like he stabbed my son, I would shove my fury in his face like a fist, but I know in my own broken heart that this same god made my magic boys, shaped their apple faces and coyote eyes, put joy in the eager suck of their mouths. So it is that my hands are not clenched in anger but clasped in confused and merry and bitter prayer.

I talk to God more than I admit, "Why did you break my boy?" I ask.

I gave you that boy, he says, and his lean brown brother, and the elfin daughter you love so.

"But you wrote death on his heart," I say.

I write death on all hearts, he says, just as I write life.

This is where the conversation always ends and I am left holding the extraordinary awful perfect prayer of my second son, who snores like a seal, who might die tomorrow, who did not die today.

(A happy update: Brian shared with me that Liam is alive and well today; he’s a healthy 14-year-old!)

Comments (15) | Posted in Journal by Kaitlyn Suveg

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Comments (22) | Posted in General, Journal by jamie tworkowski

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