You’re Worth It

Yesterday rocked me.  Not in a “this was the best day ever” sort of way.  No, yesterday I was brought to a place of self-loathing and degradation that I haven’t visited for quite a while now.  It happened within a span of maybe 5 minutes, and it was a complete stranger who took me there.  I had never met him before, I had absolutely no opinion of him, or need for his approval of me, or desire to impress or offend him whatsoever.  So much of the time, we focus on how our need for approval from those we love and care about can affect our decisions and feelings and actions.  But it is just as much a reality that the right words, or look, or lack thereof, from a person who has absolutely no previous involvement in your life can uproot deep wounds, and rip the stitches right out of a part of you that you thought was starting to heal nicely.

My initial desire was to jump on this keyboard today and blast the story of what happened to me to the world.  Because, can you believe that guy???  But here’s the truth:  sometimes we can get so caught up in the details of an event that we fail to really make space to process how those details have impacted us.  So instead, here’s what’s on my heart.  Maybe if I write it out for all of you, it will help to remind and encourage me as well.

1. YOU KNOW YOUR BODY BEST.  If you are feeling pain, and someone dismisses the idea that there’s anything really wrong, please remember this:  they are not you, so they are not the authority on your pain.  No two injuries, whether physical or emotional, are the same.  Don’t ever let anyone bully or force you into reducing your suffering to a level that makes THEM comfortable, because that decision to dismiss yourself could cause your ailment to become worse without the attention it needs and deserves, and it will cause intangible pain–in the form of second guessing yourself in the future–that far exceeds what you’re experiencing in the moment.  YOU are the authority on YOU, and you should ALWAYS fight like hell to protect and care for yourself, because you’re worth it.

2. BANDAIDS DON’T FIX BULLET HOLES.  Taylor Swift can preach.  This statement doesn’t only holds true when addressing a former friend who’s done you wrong.  It also fully applies to the level of care and love you give yourself.  We are so quick to throw a bandaid on our wounds and keep on going, because any strong person would, right?  But do you know what happens when a broken bone isn’t set and casted and allowed to heal properly?  It’s prone to re-injury in the future…permanent, painful re-injury that is even harder to heal.  So give your injury a chance to heal.  Give your grief time to subside.  Validate your feelings of mistrust when you’ve been mistreated.  You are not a robot.  You are a perfect creation of intricate, delicate, resilient pieces that should be treated with the upmost care and attention, because you’re worth it.

3. YOU DON’T HAVE TO PERFORM FOR ANYONE.  Sometimes, when we’ve been suffering for what feels like forever, we notice that our pain is making those around us uncomfortable.  It’s not that they don’t understand why we aren’t peppy and bright, but we’re conditioned from a young age to respond simply and positively to the question, “how are you?”.  When our response is an honest, but not-so-cheerful response, it can disrupt the perceived natural order of things.  So we (translation=I) tend to start acting peppy even when we’re feeling terrible, because there’s no sense in dragging the world down with us.  Now, I’m not saying that there isn’t a lot of worth in thinking positively and optimistically about even the most dismal of situations.  I’m a HUGE believer in not losing hope.  But sometimes you’re exhausted and you need the tiny bit of energy you have left within you to work on the healing process, so you don’t need to waste that energy on entertaining others.  You are allowed to have bad days, bad weeks, bad months, even bad years and it doesn’t make you less of a value to the world around you.  You can and should be honest with the people who love you, and whom you love and trust, because those people, even if they are a little taken back by your admittance of struggle, will continue to love you, and you deserve to feel that love, because…can you guess?  You’re worth it!

4. YOU ARE NOT WHAT SOME JERK DOCTOR WHO HAS KNOWN YOU FOR 3 MINUTES SAYS YOU ARE.  Ok, that example was pretty specifically for myself.  But it’s true for whoever you want to insert into the “jerk doctor” part of the sentence.  There are people who have known you for years and couldn’t possibly make a judgment call on your mental or emotional stability, because you are a constantly changing, evolving, growing human being.  So don’t you for a second let the flippant, rash opinion of a stranger grab a hold of your truth sensors and tell you that you’re less than.  You have strengths, and weaknesses, and intelligence, and reasoning, and abilities that nobody but you has.  You are exactly who you are supposed to be right now.  If you seek the advice of someone about a certain struggle you are having, please weigh carefully what they know of the situation before you take their word as gold.  And if you haven’t solicited their advice, and they aren’t a person who cares deeply about your personal well-being, then screw them.  They do not have permission to make a judgment on any part of your character, or well-being, or physical or mental state, and you certainly do not have an obligation to respond politely or with appreciation for their unrequested garbage.  You always deserve to be treated with dignity and respect, in all situations. Because, and please hear me: You. Are. Worth. It.  

That Time I Hurt Someone I Loved

I’m really struggling over this post.  I started this blog to be transparent with the world, about hurt, and trauma, and triumphs, and shortcomings.  That last piece is really tough.  I mean, it’s one thing to share with whoever may stumble into this world of mine that I’ve been scarred by the words or actions of others.  But to confess that I have undoubtedly scarred others by my own words and actions?  Ouch.  Big ouch.  Pain-in-my-chest-like-I’m-having-a-heart-attack-but-really-it’s-an-insane-amount-of-anxiety ouch.

Here’s the reality of the situation:  we are ALL guilty of scarring others.  Sometimes we leave little knicks with a snide comment or a bit of gossip.  Sometimes we rip somebody’s chest open and machete the crap out of their heart with words we don’t even sincerely mean, but that can never be fully forgotten or reversed.  And sometimes we chip away at the same wound over and over until a tiny tear is suddenly infected and in need of the type of healing that we aren’t able to offer.  I am guilty of all of these.

My natural inclination is to simply leave it at that.  Hey, well all mess up.  I’ve messed up, I’m human, and I don’t claim to be perfect.  So here’s my apology, world.  I’m sorry for not being perfect.  But that apology has about as much depth and feeling as a #sorrynotsorry meme, and if I’m going to be committed to being raw and real with all of you through these posts, then I need to be willing to share my uglier moments right alongside my moments of strength and triumph.  Here are some mortifying confessions and apologies.  My hope is that some of you will read these and know that you are not the only villain in the world.  I hope you see my mistakes and know that you can rise above ANY mistakes you have made.  I hope you see my heart and it encourages you to pursue your own confessions and apologies, because in those moments of truth there is healing, not only for those you have hurt, but for yourself.  Names have been abbreviated to protect the privacy of anyone implicated.

When I was in the sixth grade, I had a friend who was super cool in my eyes.  Not necessarily “popular” cool, but she owned her hippie style and listened to Pink Floyd when the world was obsessing over Boyz II Men.  I envied her, because I was always hyper-aware of what people thought of me, and she could care less.  She was a great friend to me, and during a time when I was desperate for any escape from what was happening with my step-dad and I at home, she provided a calm, no-questions-asked reprieve as often as I wanted.  I should have been severely protective of our relationship, and willing to go to bat for C at all costs, considering what she meant to me.  Instead, one day she decided to skip school to hang out with her next door neighbor (who was a couple years older than us and a couple notches higher than me on C’s friendship list) and I immediately threw her under the bus (not literally; I was vindictive, not deadly).  I went to one of our teachers at school, and just to make sure no stone was left unturned, I told my parents as soon as I got home, as well.  C got in a lot of trouble, and a part of me felt good about that.  I told myself, and her when she asked why I betrayed her, that it was for her own good, that I didn’t want her to start heading down a bad path, that I cared about her and wanted her to avoid hanging out with bad influences.  On a level, all of that was true.  But real talk, I wanted her exposed poor judgment to somehow reflect how good and honest and responsible I was in comparison.  C, I don’t know how or why you forgave me, but I’m so thankful you did.  You are my oldest friend, and even many years and states removed, you are so loved and cherished.

This next one is a two-part apology, and it’s a big one.  I was barely 16.  A new boy had joined our school and one of my best friends was immediately in love.  He was a bad boy whose parents had sent him to live with his grandparents, and his grandparents asked T’s parents if their good girl daughter could buddy up with him.  T was happy to oblige.  She made it no secret to me that she was interested in him, and a good friend would have respected those boundaries and steered clear.  Not only did I disregard my friend’s feelings by pursuing this boy for myself, but I lied to her about it and snuck around with him behind her back.  I knew that it would upset T if I told her that I liked this guy and wanted to date him.  But if I’m honest, I was way more concerned with protecting my image than with protecting her feelings.  I ended up giving him my virginity.  Here’s where it gets super ridiculous.  I was so worried that he might have impregnated me, that for a couple of weeks I would regularly throw my stomach into my bedpost, hard enough to leave visible bruises all over my mid-section, in hopes of “breaking up” whatever might be forming inside of me.  T, I am so very sorry that I had such little regard for you when you were nothing but loving and giving to me.  I’m sorry that I lied to you and made you question your instincts.  I’m sorry that I was truly a shitty friend to you, because you were, and are, a person who deserves better than what I offered.  To my own body and womb, I am tormented over the naive and terrible choice I made to inflict pain and injury on you.  I am haunted by those actions of mine on a regular basis, and especially as month after month, year after year goes by without the presence of a child growing inside the safe haven that I am constantly worried I might have destroyed single-handedly.

Lastly (at least for the purposes of this post, because I could fill an ocean with my shortfalls), I would like to offer a public apology to my husband, and a confession that pains me most of all.  Yours is an injury I’ve been working on for years, one that I continue to reopen time and time again.  I don’t even know how to word this with finesse, so I’ll just come out with it bluntly.  When I feel hurt by you, my weapon of choice has consistently been to remind you that you’re not worth the fight.  I am so quick to remind you that I wasn’t even sure that I should marry you to begin with, and that I should have trusted those instincts; or that I gave up on us a long time ago, and I’m only still here because you convinced me to stay, but I will easily throw in the towel and move on if you don’t keep me happy.  I’m sure this go-to of mine could be explained away with a myriad of old wounds of my own, or reflexes to protect my own heart, or other similar excuses.  But at the end of it all, I still choose to cut you with words that, in those moments, I’m hoping will make you feel small and inferior and worthless.  That is horrible.  Please know that I will continue to work on removing this wretched behavior from our life completely.  Know that I do love you, so much, and that I am severely grateful that you are my husband, despite the fact that I convey the exact opposite in moments of anger and frustration.  I am especially grateful that you have chosen to continue to work to love me better, to make me feel more loved, even when I haven’t reciprocated.  You are my rock, and I don’t ever want to do this life without you.

My fear right now is that those of you who read this will think less of me, will stop wanting to read what I have to say, or, if you know me, will prefer to bow out of our relationship.  Really, who would want to know a person who has shown such little regard for others?  But maybe someone will relate.  If so, it would mean the world to me if you shared.  Have you ever hurt someone you loved?  Have you ever pursued your own gain at the expense of someone else’s loss?  If sharing in the comments is too daunting (I don’t blame you), you could go the more ambiguous route and tweet me a simple #Imessuptoo @thstangledheart.  If you stick with me after this, THANK YOU for seeing past my failures and loving me anyway.  It means more than you know.  

This New Respect For Myself

I’m sitting in the airport as I write this. I’m heading to see my parents for a few days. I haven’t seen them in about 8 months, and I’m looking forward to staying up late, eating a giant bowl of cereal while my mom and I gab into the night, or making a run to Lowe’s with my dad, just the two of us, and sharing with him about all the great things happening in my life right now; he’s a terrific listener.  A few years ago, there’s no way I would be taking this random trip alone, and here’s why:

I’ve been a people pleaser my whole life. I don’t think this is the worst thing in the world. Because of my need to focus on the happiness of others, I get to experience these really tender moments of catching someone off guard when they aren’t expecting to be catered to.  I love seeing others feel loved and cared for, especially when it’s someone who doesn’t get to feel that very often. I wouldn’t trade my “gift of service” for anything. But it has its drawbacks, too.  I tend to be so concerned with other people’s comfort and happiness that I will sacrifice my own needs and wants for the cause.  Sometimes this is right and noble and good.  Other times, it’s just silly and it doesn’t benefit the receiver or myself at all.  One area of my life that has been heavily affected by my need to please is my marriage.

Time in therapy has helped my hubby and I realize that our combination of “baggage” is like the perfect storm. For years, we fed off each other’s unhealthy tendencies the same way I pig out at an all-you-can-eat dessert bar: it was sticky and messy and we loved and hated every minute.  My husband brought a strong parenting complex to the same table I was dishing out my “please love me”‘s at. So it played out like this: I would ask for validation for EVERYTHING, which fed into his compulsion to direct me in everything, which reaffirmed my need for his approval, which solidified his bend toward expressing approval or disapproval for every decision I made, and round and round we went. At our worst, I was so nervous about receiving disapproval from my husband that I would hide tic tacs to snack on in secret, because I enjoyed eating them more like candy and he had a strong opinion (that he freely and firmly would express to me, should he see me munching on them) that tic tacs were meant to be eaten one at a time, as any breath freshener should be.  It seems like such a ridiculous issue now, but 3 years ago this was a very real problem for us.  Needless to say, if eating a little box of tic tacs without concern was an issue, the idea of taking a solo trip to see my parents for a few days was a non-issue, because it wouldn’t have even been put on the table to begin with.

At that point in my journey, and in our marriage, I would never have even brought something like this up, because the moment the idea struck my mind, a hundred other thoughts would have talked me out of it.

If I’m gone for 4 days, he’ll have to take care of the dog by himself. 

I shouldn’t be spending money on a trip that’s just for me.

He’a going to have to drive me to the airport and pick me up, and that might be a hassle with his work schedule. 

All of these reasons and more would have convinced me that even bringing up the idea would be selfish, and a waste of time. Because although he wouldn’t tell me “no”, any hint of displeasure was just as definite to me as an actual no would be, and would make me quickly retract my request altogether.  I had such a low regard for my own needs and wants that I would constantly over analyze every decision I wanted to make to determine who it might affect, how it might affect them, and whether those effects might put anyone out on ANY level. If the answer to that last piece was yes, I would retract and rethink my decision, no matter how badly I wanted something or how much it put me out to change my direction.

Then one day my therapist asked me something that changed everything for me. She asked me, “Jennifer, what would happen if you just made that decision for yourself anyway, even if it did upset someone? What’s the worst case scenario, realistically?”

I didn’t have a great answer for her question that day, but the idea has stuck with me and here’s what I’ve discovered: when I consider myself in my decisions, turns out worst case scenario isn’t that bad.  In fact, sometimes–a lot of times–worst case scenario doesn’t even come close to happening! What DOES happen when I trust myself and care for myself in my life choices, is that I gain the respect of those around me.  My husband starts looking to me to make more decisions, because he sees that I’m not only capable, but willing to do that.  My friends become more aware of me in plans that we make, so they happily ask for my input when choosing activities or dining options.  My family is understanding when I say I can’t visit or do certain favors, because I have set boundaries and clear expectations so that nobody expects more from me than I can reasonably provide.  At first, making this shift in my priorities was uncomfortable on an excruciating level. Like, I’m talking painful.  Tears would be shed over asserting to friends that I really DIDN’T want to go to a Mexican restaurant for dinner.  But then it got a little less stressful, and I started feeling a little bolder, and then one day I made a decision for myself and actually felt really good about it!  And I realized that I was worth it.  I AM worth it! I am worth considering, and I am worth making sacrifices for, and the people who love me get JOY from seeing me happy and loving me well.

So tell me, what is your worst case scenario? What do the whispers in your subconscious tell you about your worth compared to others?  Where is your confidence lacking, and what do you think would happen if you flipped the script?  Do you have all those terrible and scary answers in your head right now?  Good.  Now I challenge you to tell those thoughts to bite you, and step out of your box on faith!  Do something for yourself today that is really scary and just trust that it isn’t going to end in tragedy.  Embrace the idea that you might actually find that YOU are worth it!  And if it feels like that thing you want to do is so scary that you’re choking on your fear, grab a glass of water, take a big gulp, and push past that moment, and I promise the other side will be so much more than you could ever imagine.  Let’s change the world by loving ourselves a little better today!  

That Summer When I Was Ten

***Trigger Warning: This post is very raw for me, and it contains some mildly graphic descriptions.  Please be aware that this post could be a trigger for some.***

It was summer.  For any ten year old, summer means two things: no school, and tons of time with friends.  For me, it meant those things, as well.  But it meant something else, too.  You see, my dad was in school, working toward a degree in Meteorology.  My mom was working full time, so during the summer, my dad took time off from school to watch us, so that my brothers and I wouldn’t have to go to daycare.  In theory, this was a perfect setup.  We got to stay home for two months, playing outside and watching old sitcoms, lounging around in our pajamas until whatever hour we felt like changing into play clothes.  And that’s pretty much how it went for my brothers.  For me, there was a different routine.

You see, every morning that my mom went to work, my dad invited (translation: forced) me to join him in our family room for daddy-daughter time.  At the start of the summer, this felt like the most special time for me.  I had always been a daddy’s girl, ever since my mom married my step-dad when I was five.  Never having met my biological father, and having had a rough start to life with my mom’s first husband, I had embraced this man with an open heart.  He was my daddy, and I was his baby girl.  Like all daddy’s girls, I knew I could get my way most of the time with a bat of my eyelashes and an extra tight squeeze around his waist.  At ten years old, I thought of this behavior as playful and loving.  I would come to realize much later in life that my dad received it as flirtation.  So when our private morning times began, I secretly felt like the “favorite” when my dad wouldn’t let my brothers come into the room while we sat and watched The Price Is Right together.

I can’t remember when the change started happening.  At some point that summer, my dad began having me sit on his lap while we watched TV, instead of sitting next to him on the couch.  I remember feeling uncomfortable because he was always just in his robe and underwear.  But I thought, even at that young age, that there must be something wrong with me that I would feel weird about sitting on my dad’s lap.  After all, he seemed perfectly happy and didn’t act like it was weird at all.  So I grinned and snuggled and acted like I was happy, too.  Sometimes my brothers would try to come into the family room, either to tell on each other for something, or to ask for a snack, or if they could go play outside.  Every time they would try to come in, especially if I was sitting on my dad’s lap, he would yell at them to get out.  That started feeling weird to me after a while, too.  But who was I to question my dad’s authority?

One morning, I came into the family room with a nervous request.  The day before, a friend had invited me to go to the movies with her and her family.  I had completely forgotten to ask my parents while my mom was home that night.  So there I was, at my morning visit with my dad, and I had to ask him if it was ok for me to go.  I wasn’t nervous that he would say no.  I somehow knew what I would have to do to get him to say yes, and that made me nervous.

It was the first time I remember kissing my dad on the mouth.  We might have exchanged a mutual peck on the lips, like most parents do with their little ones, before.  But this was different.  This was…

“Daddy, can I please go with Susan and her parents to the movies today?” I held my breath.

“I don’t know, baby, it’s going to cost you.” He grinned.

“I have money, daddy.  I have it saved up in my bank.” Problem solved.

“No, I don’t mean it will cost you money.  It’s going to cost you something else.”  He touched my leg and I shuddered.  I didn’t know why.  “It’s going to cost you a kiss.”

“Ok!” I bounced in for a peck.  That was easy!

“No, this is going to cost you a much better kiss than that.” Silence, and that grin.

I had never kissed a boy, but I knew what he meant.  I felt something similar to what you feel when you lean in for that first real kiss with your middle school crush.  But it didn’t feel like butterflies.  It felt like rocks, pelting the inside of my gut as I slowly moved my face toward my dad’s mouth.  His lips were a little wet, and they were opened just enough that he was able to close them around my lips as we met.  It felt like a year that I sat there, not moving a muscle, completely unsure of what I was supposed to do next, praying that this would be enough.  Finally, my dad pulled away from me, picked me up, and plopped me down on the couch next to him.

That time, it was enough.  I got my movie date.  And for a short time, my dad didn’t have me sit on his lap during our morning times.  We sat side by side, watching The Price Is Right, and I wondered why I had felt so weird about what had happened between us.  After all, it was just a kiss.

---

This is the first time I can remember second guessing my instincts.  I knew something was really wrong, but I told myself that I was making a big deal out of nothing.  Because he was my dad, he loved me, he was a grown up, I never told him I was uncomfortable, and a million other excuses that floated through my head.  That summer developed into a pattern of me second guessing my intuition, until I no longer listened to it at all.

That feeling isn’t unique to an innocent 10 year old girl and her experience.  As adults, we ignore our instincts all the time, and we justify other people’s poor behavior with a million different excuses.  He’s my boss, she’s my friend, I don’t want to be embarrassed, maybe I’m reading this all wrong… Certainly, if a child confides in you that they feel uncomfortable about ANYTHING, please listen to them.  Children don’t tend to make stuff up that makes them feel uncomfortable.  But even if it’s not a child.  Even if it’s your own head telling you something is off, or a relationship isn’t right for you, or a work environment is weird, LISTEN.  Listen to that still, small whisper in your head telling you to run.  Listen to that voice that says you shouldn’t be talked to that way, or looked at that way, or asked to do those things, or told not to do those things.

I was given a book years ago by a dear friend who helped me through one of the toughest situations I’ve faced as an adult.  I was struggling with a LOT of self doubt, and I was faced with making some big decisions that I was scared to death I would mess up.  My friend gave me a book called The Gift Of Fear by Gavin De Becker.  It was one of the most insightful books I have ever read.  If you struggle with self doubt, with second guessing yourself, please go get this book and devour it.  And please know that your mind was created to function FOR you, not against you.  You are so much smarter and braver than you think, and you are capable of making the BEST decisions for YOU that nobody else can.  No go be bold and love yourself!

This Shame Of Pain

Drip.  Drip.  Plop, plop.  Drip.

As I sat with my face plastered into the table at my chiropractor today, tears began steadily falling to the floor beneath me.  I was in so much pain.  I injured myself at work recently, and it was kind of like salt in the wound of an older injury, compounded by my stubborn nature to push through and ignore the blaring warning signs to stop pushing myself.  The result is that I woke up two days ago and couldn’t move my neck without a million knives stabbing every nerve ending I have.  If you’ve never waited tables, your body should be thanking you right now.  My chiropractor and her husband (they run a practice together) are AMAZING doctors, and as she pushed and massaged and shifted, she could hear my tears and she kept asking, “Am I hurting you?  Is this too painful?”  It wasn’t.  At least, not enough to make me cry.  I have a fairly high tolerance for pain (in this case, it was my demise because it caused me to wait far too long to do anything about the pain I’ve been in).

My tears had nothing to do with my physical feelings, and everything to do with how ashamed I was that I was feeling pain at all.  I was so angry that I couldn’t fix myself, that I hadn’t figured out a way to brush this off.  I was embarrassed that I had given up yet another shift because I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep from wincing every time I tried to carry anything with my left arm, and I didn’t want my co-workers, and more importantly, my bosses, to see me weak.  Was I being dramatic?  Was I making a bigger deal out of my pain than it really was?  What if people found out why I gave my shift up and thought I was faking?  After all, I never show how much pain I’m in at work, and now all of a sudden I can’t work at all?  What would everyone think?  These self-shaming thoughts overwhelmed my head until they flooded over into my tear ducts and onto my chiropractor’s floor.  And then, of course, I was ashamed that I was crying over nothing.

Why do we beat ourselves to a bloody pulp over things that are completely out of our control?  Why do we insist on blaming ourselves for naturally occurring, and perfectly normal, human reactions.  We get injured, we feel pain.  We see something sad, we get weepy.  Somebody wrongs us, we feel anger.  These are natural reactions to the broken world that we live in, and yet we feel a weight on our shoulders to mask every bit of human response we feel.  And when we’re unable to mask what we feel, we call ourselves failures, either publicly, or worse, in the deepest, darkest parts of our souls.  I know I’m not alone in this behavior, because I see and hear it all the time around me.  A co-worker of mine called herself a baby the other day because she couldn’t stop crying over a customer being rude to her.  Her feelings were deeply hurt, and she was ashamed of that.  I’ve heard women gossip about how upset they are at a friend for something that friend did to hurt them.  But they refuse to confront the other party because they are so afraid of being “petty”.  Their gossip isn’t malicious, it’s simply the only way they feel comfortable releasing their feelings.  We’ve been trained to need validation from everyone around us to justify that we FEEL things.  But why?  Why do we need anyone else to tell us that it’s ok to not be ok?

My Freshman year of high school was a nightmare.  I had been hiding this big, dark secret from the world for years, and it was starting to wear me out.  One day, I was on a bike ride with one of my best friends.  We stopped at this boy’s house and even though I knew I wasn’t allowed to go inside, we did anyway.  It was an innocent 10 minutes of hanging out watching my friend’s crush play video games.  As we headed back out to our bikes in his front yard, I saw my dad drive by, staring at me as he passed.  I knew how much trouble I was in.  For most kids, a heavy scolding or a few extra chores might have been sufficient punishment for my offense.  But my dad and I had a different type of relationship, and I knew this was the end for me.  He drove on and I knew he would be waiting for me at home.  I burst into tears and my entire body started convulsing.  My friend, having no clue what was wrong with me, other than recognizing my dad’s truck had just gone by us, simply sat down by my side and held me.  She held me and said, “it’s going to be ok.”  She didn’t get weird, she didn’t leave me to deal with my freak out moment on my own.  She didn’t judge me or even tell the whole school the next day how dramatic I was.  She just sat by my side and loved me.  And even though I knew what was coming, in that moment I felt completely safe to just be me, and to show my pain without feeling any shame for it.

I don’t know when we all grew up so much that we stopped feeling safe around each other.  I think we, as a society, have created this merry-go-round of shame, where we feel it so we project it onto those around us, and on and on the cycle goes.  I know I’m guilty of shaming others for their natural reactions, for judging those who don’t react or feel things the same way I do.  But I want to do this less, and I would love it if you would join me.  Could you comment below and share a time this week when you saw someone struggling with shame and you chose to build them up and remind them that their feelings are valid and ok?  I know we often even feel shame for bragging on ourselves when we do good, but this is something I believe is worth bragging about!  Let’s share our stories and encourage each other to keep building our world up instead of constantly tearing each other down.

This Tangled Heart Of Mine

People start blogs for all sorts of reasons.  Some bloggers are incredibly talented cooks, crafters, story-makers, and they want to share their gifts with the world, and the world wants to enjoy those gifts!  Some bloggers have a knack for being in the know, and that is certainly a gift that is in high demand.  Some have twenty cats, and take lots of pictures, and we eat that shit up.

But who starts a blog to bear their soul to a world of strangers?  Who would be crazy enough to share their deepest, darkest secrets, those details of their life that they cringe at just thinking about, with any and everyone who feels like reading about them?  What kind of person would CHOOSE to become completely vulnerable on a level that has only ever proved to be extremely painful and difficult, and for what purpose?

Hi, I’m Jennifer.  I’ve suffered quite a bit, and I’ve caused quite a bit of suffering.  I’ve been a victim of terrible choices, and I’ve made choices that have had terrible affects on others.  I’ve experienced some really terrific moments, and I’ve been fortunate to know some really terrific people.  I have a lot to heal from, and a lot to mend.  And I don’t think I’m alone in any of this.  In fact, I KNOW that my story is as common as it is unique.

So here’s what I hope:  I hope that someone in who-knows-where, Kansas reads this blog one day and she feels a little less alone in her journey.  I hope that he reads one of my posts and chooses to make one better choice for himself that day.  I hope my words convince her that she is SO worth being loved.  And I hope he chooses to love himself a little more than he did before.  I hope that as I seek to untangle this heart of mine that has been buried under thorns for so many years, it will somehow ripple out to others who have their own tangled messes.  And I hope that we can untangle together.