I Can Do Hard Things

(Author Note: Yesterday I posted, on a popular social media marketplace, the sale of my old diploma frame. I was surprised at one of the comments from someone I've never met, who decided that I must be a fool to have paid so much for the frame in the first place, and implied that I must be vain to ever care about the type of frame it was in. Dear commenter, this post is for you.)

The year was 1976 and my mother found herself unexpectedly divorced, raising four children on $2.50 an hour. Women didn’t usually go to college back then, and my mom had stayed home with my brothers and I up until that time. Suddenly, she found herself figuring out how to pay the bills. Adding a night job to the mix, she left the house at 6:30am and didn’t finish working until 8:15 every night and worked half a day on Saturday. She was endlessly exhausted. We used to wait until she sat down on the couch at night to ask for permission to do things we thought she might say no to, because it never failed that she’d fall immediately asleep and would say yes to just about anything.
 
As my mother’s only daughter, she wanted me to be more prepared for the future than she had been. She expected me to go to college and reminded me that I could do hard things. She saved her own money to help me go. I was one of the beneficiaries of those long, long days. When I turned 18, I headed to Brigham Young University (BYU) to major in music education. I loved music. I loved school. And I loved my mom.
 
However, as often happens, I got my M.R.S. degree before my B.A., and my husband received a job offer in Japan that was too good to pass up. Just before my last year of school, we pulled up stakes and flew half way around the world to live in a shoe box of an apartment that was filled with adventure. That year our first daughter was born, and suddenly, my mother’s dream of me graduating from college seemed to be pushed into the East River with cement blocks on its feet.
 
Soon, more than a decade had passed, and I was chasing four rambunctious kids around the house and loving (most) every minute. But I never could forget that voice in my head reminding me of the goal I never finished. I still wanted to graduate from college. I began taking “online” classes one-by-one, which was a bit more futile in the 90s, and difficult to fit in during nap times and carpools. Finally, when my youngest entered the first grade, I made my way back to the BYU campus to finish what I had started almost 20 years before.
 
It took me two more years to finish what originally would have been one. I found that I still loved learning! I still loved BYU! And I still loved my mom! I don’t know who was more proud when I finally graduated 21 years after I started, my mother or me. I was the first woman on either side of my family to graduate from college. And when I graduated, I bought a beautiful frame that was far too expensive, and would never be seen by a single soul except myself, my husband, and my children who passed in and out of our family office. But I hung it right over my desk where I could always be reminded that I can do hard things.
 
The next several years were filled with teaching Jr. High music classes, and raising those four beautiful kids. I loved it all. Soon, I found that life never does stop giving you opportunities to grow. As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse (CSA), I began working with the state legislature, and survivor groups, to pass 10 significant pieces of legislation to give a voice to survivors, keep molesters out of our schools, and ensure that there would be less victims in the future. It was rewarding and challenging work. People started coming to me with their stories and it became clear that I had an opportunity to help others who suffered from the same shame and insecurity that I had felt for so long. I found myself wanting them to know that they can do hard things.
 
At first, I thought the answer was in becoming a coach. I joined an amazing team and began helping businesses develop their people, and coaching individuals to reach their goals. But it didn’t take long for me to realize where my passion really was: helping people recognize and overcome the lies they have believed for a lifetime that were holding them back; in helping people realizing their worth, finding peace in themselves and their relationships. And that is not the job of a coach. That is the job of a therapist.
 
I thought my school days were behind me. But I realized that the path I wanted to follow would require another sacrifice of time, money, and energy (oh…and did I mention time?!?). I have chosen to become a marriage and family therapist, and become a more effective resource for those who have suffered from so much pain and trauma in their life. I want to help others find peace.
 
I’m now specializing in trauma, and seeing therapy clients in Sandy, and I’m grateful that my mother taught me that I can do hard things. The old fancy frame will find a new home as I place the old diploma in a more simple frame that will match an additional diploma, soon on its way. They will both take their place in my home office, where they will always be in my own line of sight, so that I can always remember what my mom always believed, that I can do hard things.

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Becky Ivory, MFTI
White Peaks Therapy
​[email protected]