First of all, part 2 for "The Wounds of My Heart" will come at a different time. Tonight, I must share what is on my heart and mind.
I am in such a strange state right now. My heart is heavy with the very real prospect of a loss greater than any I could have imagined. This trial is something that is never out of my mind. I am exhausted. I am sad. I am confused. The time will come when I will share all the little details of what this trial in my life actually means, but, for now, I will express less specific thoughts.
Uck. I have started this post 3 different times. This is another hard one to write.
If I were a professional wisher, I would wish away all the stress that presently weighs on me. But I am not a professional wisher. Those don't exist, so tonight, I came to terms with some of these difficulties. This is a little bit of how my conversation went with God:
Me: GOD! PLEASE! Please answer my prayer the way I want it answered. This is too hard for me. I cannot bear this!
God: Delight yourself in Me, and I will give you the desires of your heart
Me: Am I not delighting in you?
God: no answer
Me: Please God. I am so sad! This hurt is too great! I was mistreated! I was stolen from! What has happened is not right!
God: Yes. I know. I will never leave you or forsake you.
Me: God! This is too heavy! This is too hard! I don't want this to be my story!
God: I am still showing you what your story is. Do you remember when you had nothing?
Me: Yes. It was terrible
God: What did you do about it?
Me: I went to you. I had no one else....but God, PLEASE! Please grant my request!
God: Look around you right now. Look into the eye of your memory. What do you see?
Me: I see Your faithfulness
God: What else do you see?
Me: I see your provision
God: Do you believe Me when I promise something to you?
Me: Sometimes
God: Why do you doubt me?
Me: Because I am afraid. I don't want any more pain. I don't want any more difficulty or heartache.
God: I know about injustice and heartache. Come to me little child. Come again into the arms of My comfort.
Me: But what will I do if this atrocity continues?
God: I will show you what steps to take. Do you remember how much you have grown? Do you remember how many times you have had the opportunity to share the story of My great love for people because of all this?
Me: Yes....BUT I'M SCARED! I want things to just fall into place the way I have it in my head!
God: Do you remember how you've grown? Do you remember how I was faithful to you - how I always stayed with you just like I promised?
Me: yes......I do
God: My Son did not want the heartbreaks of His life either.......but He loves you, so He embraced them
Me: I remember
God: Do you think you would still see me as closely or clearly if I worked everything out just how you want?
Me: No. I really don't. I just don't want to be sad
God: I heal the brokenness. I restore what has been robbed away
Me: Yes. I remember.
God: Do you trust me that I will direct every one of your steps?
Me: I do. I have to. You have been faithful to show me for always.
God: Do you remember that I can heal brokenness and restore what is missing out of your heart?
Me: Yes.
God: Give them to me. I love them more than you do. I am writing their stories too.
Me: Will you show me how to help them no matter what?
God: Yes
Me: Will you give me grace to go through all of this?
God: Yes. And I will give you strength. Do you want to have things in your life be so that you don't see me as clearly?
Me: No. I don't. I just don't want this pain anymore.
God: Give the pain to me. Give me the weight of your worry. My burden for you is light. The amount that you will have to carry will be light. You just have to give it to me.
Me: I don't want to!!!!!
God: My burden for you is light. My shoulders are stronger. My heart loves you. I cherish you and them.
Me: I know. I can see your hand in every little thing in my life.
God: Will you give me the burden to carry? I love you.
Me: Yes. Will you show me what steps to take?
God: Of course.
Me: This road isn't veering off to the side any time soon, is it?
God: No. It is not, but though it is treacherous and painful, I will be right there with you. I will never leave you or forsake you, and I have a plan for your life that will show others how much I love all of you.
Me: Okay........I place this at your feet. Show me what steps to take, and give me strength and grace for the way. I am still hurting so bad, but I know you feel what my heart feels.
God: I promise.
So I sit here with a burden that has made me literally sick, but I have peace. I know more pain in life is on its way. I am not looking forward to it, but I have been so gently reminded that I am not alone. I do not have to equate being unsure of what is to come to being confused. I am not the writer of this story, but I know Who is. I will feel pain, but I will not be forced to succumb to it. I will never HAVE to carry a burdensome load heavier than what I am able. When things in life get to where they are bigger than me (which is a lot), then I have permission from the God of the universe to lay them at His feet and then crawl up in His lap to be comforted by His promises.
This is a weird one, but I have to tell you about how I have survived. It is not through my own merit. It is through the faithfulness of the God who knows me. It is through the wisdom of someone who sees more than I can see.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
The wounds of my heart
I don't want to write this post. I don't want to, but I need to. I don't want to investigate my pain, but I must. It is there. I must acknowledge it. Bear with me.
I went home to Chattanooga for Christmas of 2012. We put our children in the car and made the 8 hour drive to my home. I was so glad to see the mountains. The beach is nice, but the mountains always speak to me. I see them, and I know.....I'm home.
I knew I looked altered. I looked bad. I texted my mom and sister and my brother's wife and asked that they just not say anything because I already knew. I just wanted to have a nice Christmas. They obliged at first, but then they sat me down. The questions started. The admonitions began. I listened to them and did my best to appease them - or at least satisfy myself into believing that I'd appeased them.
I had missed my best friend so much, so we jumped at the chance to go out to breakfast. It amazed me at the concessions I had to make to accomplish a simple breakfast date to which I brought my baby - baby Sally. My friend and I hugged in the restaurant and then sat down to eat. We picked at our food and then HER questions started. She did not seem at all satisfied with anything that came out of my mouth. I can still see the look on her face as I tried to sugar coat everything. I knew she didn't buy a bit of it. Then it came. The truth. She said "THIS is not the Sarah I know. I mean, LOOK at you! You look like shit!" That seems harsh, but it was the kindest thing she could have done. The truest friend she could have been. Pardon the saltiness of the word, but I really did look just as she said. I knew it. I actually didn't even try to gussy up and hide it from her. I think I needed her to see it, and once those words flew across the table, I knew. I was destroyed.
What is it like to be destroyed? What does that mean? It means this. I'd stopped believing my dreams. I'd stopped believing that I had any autonomous worth. I would always be somebody's wife or somebody's daughter or somebody's mother. I was not content, but I was empty. I was a shell of what a person should be.....and everyone who loved me saw it. Their brows furrowed in concern. My friend looked disgusted - not at me - at my hurts. My wounds. They had consumed me.
I was raised by Christian parents who were also feminists. (No that is not an oxymoron) My sister and I used to joke that, if my parents had told us that we could fly, we would have found a cliff and spread our arms. I was raised watching my dad cook and fix a rip in his own pants while my mom was out shopping for power tools or mowing the yard and then watch my mom put on a dress and heels and my dad a suit and be the quintessential American couple. I was always told that I could do or be anything and that I SHOULD do or be whatever life dictated that I need to be.....so how did I become this shell?
I knew I was bad off, but I did not feel strong enough to rebuild. I packed my little people back up into the car and made the long drive home. The memories of my conversations rang in my head, but I did not feel the freedom to do anything about it......until March 13th of 2013. The events surrounding that day are details for later, but I found my strength. I looked at three sets of eyes looking back at me and knew that, if they were going to have any shot, I had to make a move. Life's circumstances forced me to do it. Had they not, I would probably be living the same life I had lived for years, so I packed my three babies and our cat into my car with the clothes on our backs and 5 favorite toys for each of the kids and set out.
I was horrified. I had been told for years that I was not hireable by a reputable employer, so I was worried about finding a job. I was told for years that I had a poor work ethic and that I was lazy. Was that really true? I was told that I was weird and that no one really wanted to be my friend. That must be why I didn't have any, so who could I rely on? I was told that I only made friends with people that I could change so that I had the satisfaction of manipulating someone. Really? I had been told that I was a completely negative person....that one hurt. I didn't want to be a negative person or to be known as a negative person. I just wanted to have permission to feel things, and I had been ostracized by a particular people group for a long time. It confused me for that to never be viewed as valid.
These thoughts sort of flashed through my mind. I didn't dwell on them as I drove. I just drove. I mostly thought about what I was leaving and that I was scared. I had no idea what I was going to do - especially if all of these things - or even one or two of them - were true.
I got to my destination and started a little life. I DID get a job. I found old friends again. I found a church. I found a funny Sunday school class of little old ladies who treated me like I was worth something - as much as they were, but I still felt very scared. In fact, these feelings of pain and unrest are rearing their head as I type. My eyes are full of tears. It hurts to relive this.
I had to leave that job and that church and that Sunday school class of little old ladies. There was more driving involved. (More on that later) I found a place to stay. It was not what I had dreamed for myself, but I curled my hair, put on a dress and heels and put on my lipstick. I squared my shoulders and entered the door of my new but temporary home........a homeless shelter for battered women - without my children. I followed a woman to the linen and supply closet and was given some sheets and toiletries. She looked around for a minute and then said "I.....don't see a pillow, but there should be one on your bed." And then I was taken to my room.
The only bed available was a twin sized top bunk in a room with two other women and a baby. There was indeed NOT a pillow on my bed, so I just made it up and laid on the crook of my arm. Strangely enough, they had Wi-Fi, so I hacked into my mom's online tv account and put in my earbuds and started a movie while I choked back tears and succumbed to sleep's welcoming embrace.
I think I spent the next week in bed. Other than a 4 hour visit with my children, I felt so hopeless - so low - so overcome. I had no job. No place to live. No friends in this town. I was far from everything I knew and anyone who could help me. I was alone.
...............................................................................................................................................................
I went home to Chattanooga for Christmas of 2012. We put our children in the car and made the 8 hour drive to my home. I was so glad to see the mountains. The beach is nice, but the mountains always speak to me. I see them, and I know.....I'm home.
I knew I looked altered. I looked bad. I texted my mom and sister and my brother's wife and asked that they just not say anything because I already knew. I just wanted to have a nice Christmas. They obliged at first, but then they sat me down. The questions started. The admonitions began. I listened to them and did my best to appease them - or at least satisfy myself into believing that I'd appeased them.
I had missed my best friend so much, so we jumped at the chance to go out to breakfast. It amazed me at the concessions I had to make to accomplish a simple breakfast date to which I brought my baby - baby Sally. My friend and I hugged in the restaurant and then sat down to eat. We picked at our food and then HER questions started. She did not seem at all satisfied with anything that came out of my mouth. I can still see the look on her face as I tried to sugar coat everything. I knew she didn't buy a bit of it. Then it came. The truth. She said "THIS is not the Sarah I know. I mean, LOOK at you! You look like shit!" That seems harsh, but it was the kindest thing she could have done. The truest friend she could have been. Pardon the saltiness of the word, but I really did look just as she said. I knew it. I actually didn't even try to gussy up and hide it from her. I think I needed her to see it, and once those words flew across the table, I knew. I was destroyed.
What is it like to be destroyed? What does that mean? It means this. I'd stopped believing my dreams. I'd stopped believing that I had any autonomous worth. I would always be somebody's wife or somebody's daughter or somebody's mother. I was not content, but I was empty. I was a shell of what a person should be.....and everyone who loved me saw it. Their brows furrowed in concern. My friend looked disgusted - not at me - at my hurts. My wounds. They had consumed me.
I was raised by Christian parents who were also feminists. (No that is not an oxymoron) My sister and I used to joke that, if my parents had told us that we could fly, we would have found a cliff and spread our arms. I was raised watching my dad cook and fix a rip in his own pants while my mom was out shopping for power tools or mowing the yard and then watch my mom put on a dress and heels and my dad a suit and be the quintessential American couple. I was always told that I could do or be anything and that I SHOULD do or be whatever life dictated that I need to be.....so how did I become this shell?
I knew I was bad off, but I did not feel strong enough to rebuild. I packed my little people back up into the car and made the long drive home. The memories of my conversations rang in my head, but I did not feel the freedom to do anything about it......until March 13th of 2013. The events surrounding that day are details for later, but I found my strength. I looked at three sets of eyes looking back at me and knew that, if they were going to have any shot, I had to make a move. Life's circumstances forced me to do it. Had they not, I would probably be living the same life I had lived for years, so I packed my three babies and our cat into my car with the clothes on our backs and 5 favorite toys for each of the kids and set out.
I was horrified. I had been told for years that I was not hireable by a reputable employer, so I was worried about finding a job. I was told for years that I had a poor work ethic and that I was lazy. Was that really true? I was told that I was weird and that no one really wanted to be my friend. That must be why I didn't have any, so who could I rely on? I was told that I only made friends with people that I could change so that I had the satisfaction of manipulating someone. Really? I had been told that I was a completely negative person....that one hurt. I didn't want to be a negative person or to be known as a negative person. I just wanted to have permission to feel things, and I had been ostracized by a particular people group for a long time. It confused me for that to never be viewed as valid.
These thoughts sort of flashed through my mind. I didn't dwell on them as I drove. I just drove. I mostly thought about what I was leaving and that I was scared. I had no idea what I was going to do - especially if all of these things - or even one or two of them - were true.
I got to my destination and started a little life. I DID get a job. I found old friends again. I found a church. I found a funny Sunday school class of little old ladies who treated me like I was worth something - as much as they were, but I still felt very scared. In fact, these feelings of pain and unrest are rearing their head as I type. My eyes are full of tears. It hurts to relive this.
I had to leave that job and that church and that Sunday school class of little old ladies. There was more driving involved. (More on that later) I found a place to stay. It was not what I had dreamed for myself, but I curled my hair, put on a dress and heels and put on my lipstick. I squared my shoulders and entered the door of my new but temporary home........a homeless shelter for battered women - without my children. I followed a woman to the linen and supply closet and was given some sheets and toiletries. She looked around for a minute and then said "I.....don't see a pillow, but there should be one on your bed." And then I was taken to my room.
The only bed available was a twin sized top bunk in a room with two other women and a baby. There was indeed NOT a pillow on my bed, so I just made it up and laid on the crook of my arm. Strangely enough, they had Wi-Fi, so I hacked into my mom's online tv account and put in my earbuds and started a movie while I choked back tears and succumbed to sleep's welcoming embrace.
I think I spent the next week in bed. Other than a 4 hour visit with my children, I felt so hopeless - so low - so overcome. I had no job. No place to live. No friends in this town. I was far from everything I knew and anyone who could help me. I was alone.
...............................................................................................................................................................
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Happy my birthday to you
Today is my birthday, and gosh, I just felt adored. I'm not sure I have ever felt this loved on my birthday in my entire adult life - maybe my whole life. All day people have surprised me with tokens of their appreciation for the fact that I was born into this world. Some of these tokens were actual gifts and some of them were little notes on my Facebook or just the spoken word, but they ALL made me feel loved, actually....adored.
My birthday is always weird for me because my dad died so near to my birthday, and because I spent a long time being fed the impression that I'm not really worth celebrating. So every year I try to just sort of squeeze around my birthday without being noticed, I guess, so that I don't have to deal with the issues that make me hate it so much. Three years ago, I actually allowed Facebook to post my birth date. That was a big deal. Either way, I usually ask for there to be no parties or cards or whatnot.
This year, no one listened.
This morning, I went out to my car, and there was a bag from my friend sitting on the front hood. I gasped and walked over to it. I picked it up, read the tag and started opening......standing there in my carport.....and then I started to cry. I was so moved. Then I started to see all the nice things people were posting on Facebook to wish me a happy day.
I went to cut a friend's hair today, and when I arrived, I saw that she had decorated her door with signs and balloons. Inside she had flowers and cake and coffee waiting for me.
My boyfriend sent me my birthday present a week ago. It was a bag and a card. The purse made me smile. It has his school's logo on it so I can represent every where I go. The card made me cry because this man is incredibly romantic.
Yesterday I got a handmade card from a friend. It was beautiful. Inside it said "May you have everything your heart desires". I leaked some tears over that one too. If you knew who this person was and what all was represented with those words, you would fall to pieces.
On Sunday, my daughter Natalie gave me a ring that she made out of those rubber band things and then made me a lovely card with a picture of she and I standing near my birthday cake while I blew out its candles. My son, who is 5, gave me $2.00 of his own money so that I "would have some dollars to spend".
So I'm skipping around, but when I got to work today, my friend threw here arms around my neck and squealed at her chance to tell me happy birthday and then asked me if I liked red velvet. When I got to my counter, my manager handed me a gift card from herself and another counter manager. Underneath that was a GIANT red velvet cupcake from my friend that had hugged me earlier.
Then, throughout the day, I had soooooo many people tell me happy birthday on Facebook and some in person. When people told me in person, something struck me every time. There was a something in their eyes - a softness, a tenderness, a happiness. It kept happening, so I kept thinking about it trying to figure out exactly what it was that I was seeing, and then it hit me. It was adoration.
I felt like such a jerk when that word popped into my mind, but then I forced myself to think that through. There are people that I genuinely adore. I look at them, and I just think "Gosh I am so glad they are in my life. I just don't know what I would have done if that piece of the puzzle had been missing in this picture", so what is so far fetched about someone thinking that about me? I had this realization, and then I began to cry. I am someone's "that". I am someone's puzzle piece, and by the looks of it today, I might be several people's puzzle piece.
I have tears sneaking down my cheeks right now because I remember so well what it feels like to think that you don't matter, so to realize that I just might matter to a whole bunch of people - that all of that was a lie and even that I've healed enough to realize that.......makes me feel really lucky.
If you are reading this, chances are, you have felt insignificant. You have felt like you aren't someone's puzzle piece. You're just the cellophane on the outside of the box that people throw away. You're clear, as far as you're concerned. You're not though. You're not clear. You have depth and substance in there *points to your heart. You matter. You are someone's puzzle piece, and, like I realized today, you might be a BUNCH of people's puzzle piece. You fit right in to this beautiful picture of their life, and, without you, something would be glaringly missing. In fact, if you are friends with me, I just bet you are MY puzzle piece. (So funny. I have one person on my mind right now. I wonder if they will realize who they are.) I hope beyond hope that something allows you respite from your struggles enough to see your importance. I hope you feel as adored as you are - at least for a minute. I hope you get to feel what I feel right now - grateful, humbled, loved.
So happy MY birthday to YOU. (I'm sharing it. It's my own birthday. I can do that.) Happy life to you.
My birthday is always weird for me because my dad died so near to my birthday, and because I spent a long time being fed the impression that I'm not really worth celebrating. So every year I try to just sort of squeeze around my birthday without being noticed, I guess, so that I don't have to deal with the issues that make me hate it so much. Three years ago, I actually allowed Facebook to post my birth date. That was a big deal. Either way, I usually ask for there to be no parties or cards or whatnot.
This year, no one listened.
This morning, I went out to my car, and there was a bag from my friend sitting on the front hood. I gasped and walked over to it. I picked it up, read the tag and started opening......standing there in my carport.....and then I started to cry. I was so moved. Then I started to see all the nice things people were posting on Facebook to wish me a happy day.
I went to cut a friend's hair today, and when I arrived, I saw that she had decorated her door with signs and balloons. Inside she had flowers and cake and coffee waiting for me.
My boyfriend sent me my birthday present a week ago. It was a bag and a card. The purse made me smile. It has his school's logo on it so I can represent every where I go. The card made me cry because this man is incredibly romantic.
Yesterday I got a handmade card from a friend. It was beautiful. Inside it said "May you have everything your heart desires". I leaked some tears over that one too. If you knew who this person was and what all was represented with those words, you would fall to pieces.
On Sunday, my daughter Natalie gave me a ring that she made out of those rubber band things and then made me a lovely card with a picture of she and I standing near my birthday cake while I blew out its candles. My son, who is 5, gave me $2.00 of his own money so that I "would have some dollars to spend".
So I'm skipping around, but when I got to work today, my friend threw here arms around my neck and squealed at her chance to tell me happy birthday and then asked me if I liked red velvet. When I got to my counter, my manager handed me a gift card from herself and another counter manager. Underneath that was a GIANT red velvet cupcake from my friend that had hugged me earlier.
Then, throughout the day, I had soooooo many people tell me happy birthday on Facebook and some in person. When people told me in person, something struck me every time. There was a something in their eyes - a softness, a tenderness, a happiness. It kept happening, so I kept thinking about it trying to figure out exactly what it was that I was seeing, and then it hit me. It was adoration.
I felt like such a jerk when that word popped into my mind, but then I forced myself to think that through. There are people that I genuinely adore. I look at them, and I just think "Gosh I am so glad they are in my life. I just don't know what I would have done if that piece of the puzzle had been missing in this picture", so what is so far fetched about someone thinking that about me? I had this realization, and then I began to cry. I am someone's "that". I am someone's puzzle piece, and by the looks of it today, I might be several people's puzzle piece.
I have tears sneaking down my cheeks right now because I remember so well what it feels like to think that you don't matter, so to realize that I just might matter to a whole bunch of people - that all of that was a lie and even that I've healed enough to realize that.......makes me feel really lucky.
If you are reading this, chances are, you have felt insignificant. You have felt like you aren't someone's puzzle piece. You're just the cellophane on the outside of the box that people throw away. You're clear, as far as you're concerned. You're not though. You're not clear. You have depth and substance in there *points to your heart. You matter. You are someone's puzzle piece, and, like I realized today, you might be a BUNCH of people's puzzle piece. You fit right in to this beautiful picture of their life, and, without you, something would be glaringly missing. In fact, if you are friends with me, I just bet you are MY puzzle piece. (So funny. I have one person on my mind right now. I wonder if they will realize who they are.) I hope beyond hope that something allows you respite from your struggles enough to see your importance. I hope you feel as adored as you are - at least for a minute. I hope you get to feel what I feel right now - grateful, humbled, loved.
So happy MY birthday to YOU. (I'm sharing it. It's my own birthday. I can do that.) Happy life to you.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Compliments
This writing is meant to be therapy for me. I am supposed to do it every day - expression of my feelings every day so that I can eventually sort through the things that impede me. I poured out a lot of feeling this morning as I wrote so this evening, I don't know that I have much to write.
This thought just struck me. I can't receive compliments well. I'm always suspicious that the giver of the compliment is actually making fun of me. I colored my hair red. I always end up coloring my hair red. My mother is a natural red-head, and she always spoke of it with a sort of elegant vanity so maybe that's where I get my equation of red hair being most beautiful on me. Since I have colored it red this most recent time, I have gotten many compliments. It has been a good month and a half since I colored it, so it is faded. In the last couple of days, I have gotten several comments on the color. Instead of thinking "Oh wow. Red must work for me really well.", I have thought "This crap must look really faded and people are complimenting me to my face and making fun of my sad faded hair behind my back." I wore different pants to work. People told me they were cute. Instead of thinking "I am so glad I was able to find clothes that fit me nicely", I think "Gosh those other pants must have looked so bad that everyone is relieved to see me in something more current looking" or "There's probably something wrong with what I have on but people like me enough as a person to try to validate what they think is redeemable." Someone said to me the other day "Sarah, you're so pretty. You're such a pretty girl. That face you made was just so, I don't know - just pretty". Instead of thinking "You know what? I have come a long way from the buck toothed bucket of awkwardness that I was in high school.", I think "People are so nice about things when they think you're pleasant to be around. They just reinforce you with something that may not even be true just so they can make you feel good." I curled my hair for work last week. One of the guys at work said "You're hair looks really pretty like that. I like curls." Instead of saying "Thank you" and throwing a winning smile at him for such a sweet compliment, I said "Are you kidding?! I have old lady hair today! I think it looks terrible!" He literally stood there and just said "No. It really looks nice. Just take the compliment."
What of that?! Is it the American culture I grew up in? Was there something in my nuclear family that has left me so insecure? Is it from scars from ill-intended men during the course of my life? Is is all of these or none of them? Is this just part of our deficiency as imperfect humans that we tear ourselves apart from the inside out? I just don't have the answer to that. It's terrible though.
Would I ever want my daughters or my son to feel suspicious when someone encourages them? I'm sure my mom will read this. What must that make her feel to know that I can't believe any positive feedback when it is given to me? I spent my childhood and time in her house growing up being told that I was so beautiful and that I could do anything I wanted. Why does this plague me?
Should I even need positive feedback? Where is the line of health where that is concerned?
I have just spent so much time in self doubt trying to save myself from moments of embarrassing self inflation that I have created a complex for myself. I don't supposed it really matter from whence it came. It only matters what I do with it now. The thing is, I'm just not sure where exactly to go.
I do know this. I have value. That cannot be taken away. I have beauty. I know that I CAN see that. Not many people love as deeply and fiercely as I do. That is something that cannot change with time. Circumstances can change that, but only if you let them, and I have fought to keep that.
What if people do think that I'm actually pretty? What if someone really did like my new pants or the way I curled my hair? What would be so wrong with enjoying those compliments? I guess nothing.
This thought just struck me. I can't receive compliments well. I'm always suspicious that the giver of the compliment is actually making fun of me. I colored my hair red. I always end up coloring my hair red. My mother is a natural red-head, and she always spoke of it with a sort of elegant vanity so maybe that's where I get my equation of red hair being most beautiful on me. Since I have colored it red this most recent time, I have gotten many compliments. It has been a good month and a half since I colored it, so it is faded. In the last couple of days, I have gotten several comments on the color. Instead of thinking "Oh wow. Red must work for me really well.", I have thought "This crap must look really faded and people are complimenting me to my face and making fun of my sad faded hair behind my back." I wore different pants to work. People told me they were cute. Instead of thinking "I am so glad I was able to find clothes that fit me nicely", I think "Gosh those other pants must have looked so bad that everyone is relieved to see me in something more current looking" or "There's probably something wrong with what I have on but people like me enough as a person to try to validate what they think is redeemable." Someone said to me the other day "Sarah, you're so pretty. You're such a pretty girl. That face you made was just so, I don't know - just pretty". Instead of thinking "You know what? I have come a long way from the buck toothed bucket of awkwardness that I was in high school.", I think "People are so nice about things when they think you're pleasant to be around. They just reinforce you with something that may not even be true just so they can make you feel good." I curled my hair for work last week. One of the guys at work said "You're hair looks really pretty like that. I like curls." Instead of saying "Thank you" and throwing a winning smile at him for such a sweet compliment, I said "Are you kidding?! I have old lady hair today! I think it looks terrible!" He literally stood there and just said "No. It really looks nice. Just take the compliment."
What of that?! Is it the American culture I grew up in? Was there something in my nuclear family that has left me so insecure? Is it from scars from ill-intended men during the course of my life? Is is all of these or none of them? Is this just part of our deficiency as imperfect humans that we tear ourselves apart from the inside out? I just don't have the answer to that. It's terrible though.
Would I ever want my daughters or my son to feel suspicious when someone encourages them? I'm sure my mom will read this. What must that make her feel to know that I can't believe any positive feedback when it is given to me? I spent my childhood and time in her house growing up being told that I was so beautiful and that I could do anything I wanted. Why does this plague me?
Should I even need positive feedback? Where is the line of health where that is concerned?
I have just spent so much time in self doubt trying to save myself from moments of embarrassing self inflation that I have created a complex for myself. I don't supposed it really matter from whence it came. It only matters what I do with it now. The thing is, I'm just not sure where exactly to go.
I do know this. I have value. That cannot be taken away. I have beauty. I know that I CAN see that. Not many people love as deeply and fiercely as I do. That is something that cannot change with time. Circumstances can change that, but only if you let them, and I have fought to keep that.
What if people do think that I'm actually pretty? What if someone really did like my new pants or the way I curled my hair? What would be so wrong with enjoying those compliments? I guess nothing.
On being loved
In my adult life I have grown accustomed to not being loved - or at least perceiving that I could not accept love. I have believed that the ugliness of my human experience was too much for others to bear - that it would reveal the conditions of their love.
My dad died almost 7 years ago. I would lay awake at night and quietly weep or i would close my eyes and see visions of him laying on the bathroom floor dead. He was my best friend. My dad always seemed able to shoulder the burden of my hurts or my confusions. Nothing was off limits in talking with my dad. This is what made us excellent partners in business and friendship. It always made me feel so secure to know that , if no one else understood or cared to listen - my dad always would - with no judgments . He always made time for me, and I always made time for him. I stopped feeling that security when he died.
All of our lives and roles in our lives changed when he died. That is not unique to our family, but that is the reality that I lived, so that is the only one to which I can speak.
Anyway, I became, more than ever, the fixer kid. I was the one who would help however I could - take on the big tasks that no one else could handle. I would rescue situations and people. I would "talk sense" into unreasonable people or scenarios. I was never allowed to grieve....and I stopped feeling unconditionally loved. This is not to say that I actually stopped BEING unconditionally loved. It's just what I felt. I had to be this or that for people. I lost my identity.....until last March.
Last March I left a culture of abusiveness. Immediately after that, I reunited with an old boyfriend - the one that always felt like unfinished business - the one that I knew had never stopped loving me and that accepted everything about me. the one that was never afraid to call me out on my misbehaviors but then give me a loving embrace right after. It did not take any time at all after our initial reconnection for me to realize that his character had not changed. He still loved me and was willing to shoulder up every bit of baggage that I couldn't carry....and then help me set it down at the appropriate "tomb" so that it could stay there and no longer encumber me.
It has been a very strange experience for me for someone to be so focused on my grief so that I could actually experience it. I have often felt that I have received much more than I have given, and I have felt so much guilt over that. Despite his constant reassurance that the scales were not tipped inappropriately in one direction, I have felt built.
He came to stay with me over the month of December. He stayed for an entire month - well, 27 days. Close enough. It was like a dream. After years of chronic insomnia, I found myself falling asleep at 10 at night and waking up at 7 in the morning. . I was no longer alone when I left work. My house, instead of being cold and lonely when I got home from work, was warm and inviting with a hug and kiss at the door and scents of delicious food cooking in my previously unused kitchen. We developed a routine for each evening and then found new things to do on my off days in this town where I have lived for 2 years but had never felt the freedom or had the company to explore.
.......and then he went home. I have felt grief over his absence. I knew I would, but the reality hit me nevertheless. I cried tears a short time or two, but I did not embrace my sadness - my loss - my loneliness. Instead, I pushed him away and blamed busyness. I said vague things about things between us not being normal, but I refused to even allow my own mind to admit what exactly it was because then I would have to reveal to him what I was afraid would actually make him feel badly for something that was outside his control. I didn't want to push him there....because I am a pusher. I am a "salesman". I didn't want to do that to him or even make him feel that's what I was doing. So....I just pushed him away. Not far. Just far enough that he couldn't get close to my heart to see the pain but not so far that I pushed him out of my life. It didn't work though, because when someone loves you - truly loves you - they see through those things, and he did.
We had a long talk this morning, and I had to admit my feelings. I had to apologize for pushing him away. It was horrible and embarrassing, but then.....I felt loved. He reminded me that embracing my pain with me does not tax him beyond what he is able. It does not deplete him. What depletes him is being pushed away being left alone and confused. Then he used the word "partners". He could not see me, but tears welled up in my eyes and then spilled over. I have a partner. Come what may, I have a partner. Until death do us part, I have someone to travel this human journey with me. I have someone who loves me. I have someone to love.
I am a lucky girl.
My dad died almost 7 years ago. I would lay awake at night and quietly weep or i would close my eyes and see visions of him laying on the bathroom floor dead. He was my best friend. My dad always seemed able to shoulder the burden of my hurts or my confusions. Nothing was off limits in talking with my dad. This is what made us excellent partners in business and friendship. It always made me feel so secure to know that , if no one else understood or cared to listen - my dad always would - with no judgments . He always made time for me, and I always made time for him. I stopped feeling that security when he died.
All of our lives and roles in our lives changed when he died. That is not unique to our family, but that is the reality that I lived, so that is the only one to which I can speak.
Anyway, I became, more than ever, the fixer kid. I was the one who would help however I could - take on the big tasks that no one else could handle. I would rescue situations and people. I would "talk sense" into unreasonable people or scenarios. I was never allowed to grieve....and I stopped feeling unconditionally loved. This is not to say that I actually stopped BEING unconditionally loved. It's just what I felt. I had to be this or that for people. I lost my identity.....until last March.
Last March I left a culture of abusiveness. Immediately after that, I reunited with an old boyfriend - the one that always felt like unfinished business - the one that I knew had never stopped loving me and that accepted everything about me. the one that was never afraid to call me out on my misbehaviors but then give me a loving embrace right after. It did not take any time at all after our initial reconnection for me to realize that his character had not changed. He still loved me and was willing to shoulder up every bit of baggage that I couldn't carry....and then help me set it down at the appropriate "tomb" so that it could stay there and no longer encumber me.
It has been a very strange experience for me for someone to be so focused on my grief so that I could actually experience it. I have often felt that I have received much more than I have given, and I have felt so much guilt over that. Despite his constant reassurance that the scales were not tipped inappropriately in one direction, I have felt built.
He came to stay with me over the month of December. He stayed for an entire month - well, 27 days. Close enough. It was like a dream. After years of chronic insomnia, I found myself falling asleep at 10 at night and waking up at 7 in the morning. . I was no longer alone when I left work. My house, instead of being cold and lonely when I got home from work, was warm and inviting with a hug and kiss at the door and scents of delicious food cooking in my previously unused kitchen. We developed a routine for each evening and then found new things to do on my off days in this town where I have lived for 2 years but had never felt the freedom or had the company to explore.
.......and then he went home. I have felt grief over his absence. I knew I would, but the reality hit me nevertheless. I cried tears a short time or two, but I did not embrace my sadness - my loss - my loneliness. Instead, I pushed him away and blamed busyness. I said vague things about things between us not being normal, but I refused to even allow my own mind to admit what exactly it was because then I would have to reveal to him what I was afraid would actually make him feel badly for something that was outside his control. I didn't want to push him there....because I am a pusher. I am a "salesman". I didn't want to do that to him or even make him feel that's what I was doing. So....I just pushed him away. Not far. Just far enough that he couldn't get close to my heart to see the pain but not so far that I pushed him out of my life. It didn't work though, because when someone loves you - truly loves you - they see through those things, and he did.
We had a long talk this morning, and I had to admit my feelings. I had to apologize for pushing him away. It was horrible and embarrassing, but then.....I felt loved. He reminded me that embracing my pain with me does not tax him beyond what he is able. It does not deplete him. What depletes him is being pushed away being left alone and confused. Then he used the word "partners". He could not see me, but tears welled up in my eyes and then spilled over. I have a partner. Come what may, I have a partner. Until death do us part, I have someone to travel this human journey with me. I have someone who loves me. I have someone to love.
I am a lucky girl.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Taking the first step
I have been told by several people on good authority that it is therapeutic for me to write or journal about my feelings and experiences as I go through this recovery process. I have spent some time trying to think of just how to do that, and I feel like I want to type it this way and also share it. I don't want to waste the experience on my own forgetful mind. I want to make even the process productive.........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................so here goes. Take my hand as I bare my heart.
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