C.A. Meyer
C.A. Meyer
Journalist. Writer. Actress.
Writing
How to Stay True to Your Beliefs: An 8-Step Guide
How to Stay True to Your Beliefs: An 8-Step Guide
CASTLES: My Debut Poetry Book is Here
CASTLES: My Debut Poetry Book is Here
You Feel What You Speak: How Your Words Determine Your Mood
You Feel What You Speak: How Your Words Determine Your Mood
You Don't Need To Be "Insta Famous": How to Bow Out of the Comparison Game
You Don't Need To Be "Insta Famous": How to Bow Out of the Comparison Game
The Life-Changing Truth About Forgiveness
The Life-Changing Truth About Forgiveness
 
 
 

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wondering where to start? Grab a coffee, settle in, and read my story at the link below...

 
 
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Writing
How to Stay True to Your Beliefs: An 8-Step Guide
How to Stay True to Your Beliefs: An 8-Step Guide
 
 

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Featured
How to Stay True to Your Beliefs: An 8-Step Guide
How to Stay True to Your Beliefs: An 8-Step Guide
CASTLES: My Debut Poetry Book is Here
CASTLES: My Debut Poetry Book is Here
You Feel What You Speak: How Your Words Determine Your Mood
You Feel What You Speak: How Your Words Determine Your Mood

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Former teacher copes with Parkinson’s, disease that killed his brother
Former teacher copes with Parkinson’s, disease that killed his brother
Graduate returns as Basic High School’s principal
Graduate returns as Basic High School’s principal
Card skimming on rise in Henderson, police warn
Card skimming on rise in Henderson, police warn
 
 
 
 
 

Fiction, or Something

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When I moved to New York City, I wanted to start over. . I felt a little bit like the ruins of the girl I knew I was supposed to be. I thought a new city, new friends, new school, a new life could change all that. But as my father told me, “your problems can’t be outrun—you’ll carry them with you until the day you’re brave enough to turn around and face them.” I’d always been a runner, but I tried to tell myself it was simply a new beginning for me, that I wasn’t avoiding anything or anyone, even though I knew deep down that I was. . So, out of shame, I burrowed inside myself so tightly that the enormity of my past left little breathing room for my present. I wanted to be grateful for the life I’d always dreamed of, but I couldn't sidestep my own regret of things so long past that I was sure everyone else had forgotten them, and forgotten me with them. It wasn’t until I walked into @thejourneynyc one day that I bumped into the remembrance of Love. That I recalled what it’s like to feel joy, and peace with it. Only then, with the strength and devotion of the Man who died for me, did I find the courage to turn around and face my demons. Call them out of the dark by name. Inform them of who I was to become, Who I belonged to, and then, when the dust settled, forgive them, as I knew I was forgiven. . Your past can only define you if you let it. Because despite what that voice in your mind tells you, you are not the words you’ve said. You are not the things you’ve done. You are not the people you’ve known. Every time you put yourself down, you’re binding your spirit to things God has already freed you of. But you were forgiven the second you asked to be. The second you declared your love for Him. So stop allowing your patterns to rewrite your purpose. You weren’t put on this earth to relive your mistakes. You were put on this earth to overcome them, and then to tell your story. The one we all have inside us: that of a holy place built from age-old ruins.
Life Tip: Don't stay in relationships that aren't good for you because you're on a mission to "save" someone. Your purpose on this planet is so much more profound than that. . Get my debut poetry book, CASTLES, available now on Amazon.
Do you have trouble staying true to your beliefs? Standing up for what you think is right? Talking about it with others or, gasp, sharing it on social media? Yeah, most of us do. Popular culture makes it difficult. I wrote about it in a new essay on cameyer.com entitled, "How to Stay True to Your Beliefs: An 8-Step Guide." To read, head on over to the link in my bio and don't forget to subscribe to my newsletter while you're there.
Lately, I’ve begun to study the shift in behavior of strangers when they walk into churches. . Whether they’re religious or just came inside to take nice photos, every one of them undergoes a physical change, most likely so instinctual it goes unnoticed. Their shoulders straighten. Their movements slow. Their facial features soften. Their voices quiet until the silence is a sound itself. And then, without fail, they each do the same thing, as if it were planned: they look up. . I don’t know what they see up there. If they’re studying the gold leaf crown molding from another era, wondering about the cost or musing over the artist’s precision. If they’re acknowledging they’re walking the grounds of a home to a higher power, as if to say, “Sorry, I know I’m not supposed to be here. Didn’t think you’d be in. I’ll go.” If it’s simply instinct or muscle memory to look up in a place that symbolizes hope to so many, despite the rewritten histories of man. . I wish I could ask them. I wonder if they’d tell me or if they'd turn away: shied by their own humanity.
I’m Alex. . I’m a writer, and I suffer from severe anxiety and mild depression. I didn’t understand this until I reached my early twenties, and I couldn’t communicate it very well to my loved ones until this past year, simply because I believed everyone had the same thought processes as me. Essentially, every day, I’m at war with my own mind: I wake up and, like a rewound movie reel, my mind plays for me a flashback of everything I’ve ever done to be ashamed of, every critique I’ve ever received, and tries to alter my mood. Most of the time, I get up and get busy with projects and stay busy until I’m too tired to think. Sometimes, I sit there and read the narrative I’m telling myself in my mind. Sometimes, it sounds really, stupidly believable. . I’m sharing this because I’ve dedicated my energies in the past year to encouraging others to be vulnerable, and it’s opened my eyes to how much my generation especially needs that. Our minds are so over-stimulated by social media, our lives so saturated with the pressure to be society’s definition of “perfect,” amidst a culture that aggressively, soullessly turns our individual weaknesses into marketing tactics, that we’re all suffering from something, in our own ways. And a lot of us are suffering silently. . I feel really blessed that I have the kind of friends who bypass the pleasantries, unafraid to be cheesy or vulnerable, by asking the most startling of questions: “How’s your heart today?” They know I live alone in a lonely city. They know my life can be busy while at the same time being slow. They know this because they experience it, too, and they’ve chosen courage in the face of fear. If you’re still reading this, find friends like that. Find one friend like that. And if you can’t, be that friend to someone. . One of my favorite authors with one of my favorite quotes says it all for me: “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” We all do it. And we need to start asking each other for those stories, so we can fact check. At the very least, we need to care enough to remind each other we’re not alone. . #mentalhealthawareness #choosevulnerability #ifcaptionswerehonest
A new YouTube video is up on my channel all about my debut poetry collection, CASTLES. Click on over to YouTube.com/camalexis94 and watch to hear me read the introduction and share three poems, plus some backstory as to how the book came together! While you're there, don't forget to subscribe to my channel. Some exciting projects are coming soon…#CASTLES
I was sitting with Liz at breakfast on our last day here when we both looked at each other with the same knowing glance: one filled with the crackling recognition of our past and present finally colliding. I said, “It’s a wonder people don’t believe in miracles, but I get it; they’re most often slow-burning outside the realm of our day-to-day focus.” We never see the parts moving. . We never recognize the loss of one relationship making room for a dozen others. Don’t notice the slow redefining of our answer to, “Where’s home?” Until one day, we’re pulling up a chair in a Copenhagen café beside a girl we first met at a college frat party years before. Someone we absentmindedly drifted toward in the corner of the room because she had a familiar look in her eyes: one that said, “There’s more to life than this. And I’m gonna find it.” . I feel so lucky to live my little writer life alongside other dreamers. Thank you @even__stephens_ and @elizabethal15 for being brave with me.
Made us these matching shirts since Europeans appreciate subtlety. #sorrymom
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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