It’s been far too long since I wrote something that intimately mattered to me. I do this thing where I project the best image of myself possible and hope nobody’s looking close enough to catch the cracks in my foundation or the pain beneath my cheery eyes.
I want to provide a disclaimer before we dive into the deep:
You’re about to read some of the thoughts inside my head I’m hesitant to share with anyone outside my immediate bubble of best friends and family. I’ve written personal things on my blog before, but lately, I’ve become rather comfortable skimming the surface of my emotions and avoiding writing about the uncomfortable things. I recently watched Brené Brown’s Netflix documentary, The Call to Courage, and I feel all the more convicted to write to you today with utter transparency.
So, I will begin with a simple question Brené challenged us with during her talk: How can you let yourself be loved if you can’t be seen?
I write to you today from the darkest corners of my heart, baring my soul to the Internet with the hope that by being vulnerable in this moment you might see me– really see me– in all my imperfections.
The Enemy’s been waging war– ferocious, ceaseless war– against my mind from the minute I accepted Christ into my heart at seven years old. It began with doubting, evolved into my own personal misery of OCD, blossomed into anxiety with a dash of depression and at last sprinkled with a shield of pessimistic, self-deprecating self-talk.
It’s been twelve years since the course my life changed forever, and not a day has gone by that the Enemy hasn’t tried to drag me back down in some way, shape or form.
I’ve heard it said that the devil works hard when God’s about to do wildly transformative things in our lives, but it wasn’t until this year that I felt the brunt of the Enemy’s attacks and came to the knee-trembling awareness that God is doing a new work in me and through me.
I feel like a completely different person than who I was when I stepped foot on campus back in August. I’ve learned, grown, stretched, leaped, flown– you name it. And yet, the effects of age and experience don’t seem able to touch the same old lies and tactics of the Enemy.
And yet, even though I’ve heard and seen these sinister tactics before, the weapons cut deep into the same wounds I’ve been nursing for years.
This past Tuesday, during my last public speaking class, we were asked to select one object from the random assortment at the front of the room and build a two-minute speech about ourselves using the object as a prop. I chose a first-aid kit, and I connected the unpacking of the medical supplies to the unpacking of my baggage this year at Lee.
You see, I didn’t acknowledge my baggage because I believed it ceased to exist. After all, I’ve never been in a serious relationship or been struck by some earth-shattering tragedy.
But oof. This just isn’t the case– namely, because I discovered I’ve been carrying a case full of baggage for quite a long time.
God’s been using this year to faithfully expose my baggage to me and help me work through my fears. He led me to do things I never would’ve imagined I’d be doing a year ago– like confessing to a guy that I’d started to develop feelings for him.
This one was huge for me. I am not a flirt, nor do I particularly enjoy small talk (which is, in my humble opinion, the epitome of flirting). I would rather sit down with someone and tell them how I feel than keep throwing attention their way and expecting them to pick up the signals.
In short, this person did not feel the same way about me nor was he in a place to be in a relationship. Completely understandable, and I can’t blame him for not feeling the same way about me. Feelings are feelings, as is the lack thereof.
I cannot stress the width and depth of all the things the Lord taught me through this experience. One thing I took away from it was that I realized how important closure in relationships is for me. Sometimes God guides us to places He knows will terrify us in order to teach us hard lessons we are hesitant to learn when life is easy.
The Scripture that unintentionally covered my life freshman year is Psalm 37. According to the footnote in my Bible, this Psalm closely correlates to the Wisdom Literature of the Old Testament, like Proverbs. This Psalm communicates how essential it is to maintain a close connection and loyalty to the Lord in times of uncertainty. This passage, namely verses 3-7, spoke mighty Truth to my circumstances amidst anxiety and uncontrollable outcomes.
Trust in the Lord, and do good; dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness. Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him, and he will act. He will bring forth your righteousness as the light, and your justice as the noonday. Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him; fret not yourself over the one who prospers in his way, over the man who carries out evil devices!
I poured over these Scriptures and used them to hold onto the hope that God will bring my desires to life when He’s ready and I’m ready. Psalm 37 continues to emerge in my current season of life so I will continue to press in and listen to what God is trying to tell me because clearly, He’s not finished with me yet.
I needed to trust the Lord with my heart– no matter what might happen. (To throw in another wise word from Brené Brown, “Vulnerability is having the courage to show up when you can’t control the outcome”). Rejection has forever scared the shiz out of me and held me back from wonderful things. I needed to be brought low in this valley, orienting myself in a highly vulnerable position, in order to learn that rejection does not need to be a label on my life. There is much more to the story than what one season brings.
Another piece of my baggage also comes with a label.
Never in my life have I thought the word cautious, when describing another person, to be a good thing. But alas, that is what I am.
I pretend I like to take risks– and to a certain degree, I do. But when it comes to relationships, I am extremely hesitant. There have been so many guys I could’ve conveniently jumped into relationships with, both at Lee and back home. Maybe it’s because they were easy, there was no spark, or I was not in a place to be in one. I don’t know. But as difficult as it is for me to admit, I fear the core of my flight-risk syndrome is due to an unhealthy amount of caution.
And I don’t believe this fear is entirely my fault– each time I begin to open my heart to someone new, I am met with a faceful of rejection. Past wounds rear their ugly heads yet again, and the walls go up.
It can be so immensely frustrating. I often lie awake at night and wonder what I’m doing and why God seems to be leading me to no’s, repeated rejections, and heartaches. I wear my heart on my sleeve and it rarely fails to come back and bite me. In cynic-ridden resentment, I look to the Lord and ask, Why me? What am I doing wrong? I can only be a cheerleader for so long until I begin to acknowledge the acquisition of my own selfish feelings.
I am not regretful of the decisions I’ve made with my heart. It is a delicate, precious thing, and I hold onto hope that one day the right man will appreciate my heart for all it is. But this hope– it’s not comfortably attained. In fact, most of the time I feel so undeserving to even dream about a future so full with the gratification of my heart’s desires.
I am unworthy. Ugly. Unlovable. Missing something. Too deep, too shallow, too emotional.
These are the types of lies I wake up every single morning and contest with.
And if the thoughts in my mind about myself are toxic then, of course, the outpouring will look like a lot of emotion-driven mistakes and wrongful attribution of feelings onto other people.
But this year, I think I’ve discovered my trump card.
No longer am I bound to believe these vicious lies that threaten to steal my confidence.
Yes, I’ve been rejected. And also yes, I’ve been, are, and will continue to be accepted. Ten, twenty, not even one-hundred rejections can steal away the love of the Lord– not to mention all the friends and family surrounding me.
Yes, I am cautious with my heart. But I can genuinely say my heart has been broken, while also remaining intact. I’ve wasted nothing but love and kindness on people who might not have reciprocated, but I am so thankful that the Gospel sweetly reminds me that no act of love is ever wasted.
Yes, I spend too much time inside my head worrying, evaluating, and overthinking. But I would much rather think too much than not think at all. My mind is a beautiful place that is not fearful of accepting feelings from intense sadness to indescribable delight. There is immense power in taking ownership of the magnitude of your emotions and letting them come and go, just as the seasons change. Magnificent works of art can come from tear-soaked pillows and dancing on rooftops. Passion is how the world begins to change.
It seems so simple to stand up and declare Truth over my life and start living it.
So simple…
So simple that I should probably start doing it.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned during my freshmen year of college, it’s that you’ve just gotta roll with punches. Each season of life brings something new, and you will only truly appreciate it if your heart is wide open and your expectations are out the window.
Life is messy, uncomfortable, and hurtful. Feel it all, but I am declaring to both you and me that feelings do not dictate truth.
There are moments where life feels lonely, but there are also moments where life is bursting with love and acceptance. I’m not telling you to choose the love or the acceptance every single time because you and I both know it’s not that easy– however, I want you to know it is there.
Last semester, I was with a group of friends in Chattanooga. We stopped at this bookstore downtown, and there was this box of quote cards for 75 cents apiece. I’m obsessed with quotes– sometimes other people can say the exact thing you’re feeling in such a way that it can absolutely rock your world. I found one card with these words written and no attribution attached:
We have no right to ask when a sorrow comes, ‘Why did this happen to me?’ unless we ask the same question for every joy that comes our way.
Yeah. Just gonna leave that here.
Thank you for walking with me in my vulnerability for the past few minutes. If you’ve waded through similar waters of worry and doubt as me this year, I hope you might be encouraged that you are not alone and that God really does know what He’s doing.
Turn away from the timeline the world has on your life and instead turn to your Creator for wisdom, truth, hope, and guidance.
live wanderfully 