Month: April 2019

I can’t remember a time when criticism didn’t feel like a direct attack on my person instead of an incident or behavior. Perhaps because when they started, at least in my memory, it was about me specifically. Before third grade adults felt the need to remind me of how fat I was. Or how it looked like I gained weight; this was the greeting I got instead of hello. The time was the early 80’s and I was still steeped in the culture of ignoring children in every setting. You know, after a while you start to internalize things said to you. It didn’t matter that I was well dressed, equisitely put together and well spoken, my belly was rounder than most kids’ and clearly must be addressed. The adults didn’t know then that asthma medicine had steroids in it, nor did they notice that my belly was incongruent to the rest of my frame; I was just fat. Luckily for me I had an amazing buffer in my grandma. While the outside world was harsh, the rooms in the back of my house were the oasis in the storms.

Unluckily for me my grandma died before I hit puberty and it just got worse during that time. I could’ve shaken things off that were said by strangers, but when it started coming from inside the house there was nowhere to hide. Every criticism about my clothes, hair, body translated to: “You’re not pretty enough”; clearly meaning I must not be a good person because I’m not pretty. My lack of indulging in all things pubescent girly meant I wasn’t enough. My lack of desire for having a large group of girls to call friends meant I wasn’t friendly enough; my dad really said that to me. I try desperately to keep cultural and generational context in place when reviewing what someone says, but my filters stutter out when I feel attacked; that’s pretty often ya know.I’m almost 40 and I still flinch internally when something I did or do isn’t perfect the first time. Is that realistic, no, but old habits die hard. At least I no longer start crying, although I stopped crying years ago, so there’s that. Supossedly a lifetime of criticism should mold you into a perfectionist of some sort, ha! All I got was a fortified spirit of rebellion. Instead of being engaging and like the person I feel inside, I distrust all people, in every situation as I wait for the next missle.

People can’t get close to me, not because I’m shy, it’s because I’ve walled myself in a tower of no one will understand or love me like I need and being alone is better anyway. I put on such socially acceptable behaviors and others find them so appealing that they can’t see that I’ve written them off for eternity because they didn’t pass my “do you really see me” test. You know that test, the one where if they like the fake/less genuine you then they aren’t really going to appreciate the real you and are therefore not worth the energy it takes to forge relationships.

Can I tell you God sees you and loves you? I, like a lot of people feel that you have to get cleaned up and straightened out before you can come to God; that’s not the truth. If it was then we’d all might as well shrivel up and die because the standard could never be reached. My relationship with God is growing and evolving because I’m starting to see Him in relation to how He sees me, personally, not just through someone else’s interpretation.

To answer my own question, is it me? Yeah, it is, and it’s you too because lucky for us, He loves and sees us just where and as we are.​

Everyone makes them, but it’s best to learn from them. Most people learn something, but what’s learned leaves them guarded, jaded and sometimes just down right bitter. I’m speaking from personal experience, trust. As I approach 40 I desperately want my latter days to be greater than my former days. It’s going to take a lot of prayer, reflection and introspection to make that happen though. I’m going to take my issues, find the mistake from which it formed and ask God for a fresh perspective.

gHere’s an example of my latest “hmm, aha” moment. I had sworn off dating and marriage for all eternity. I still feel that way, lol, but the reason has changed. I recognize that all men aren’t bad and that the common denominator in my relationships was me. But what me was present at the time? During those times, it was the me that needed validation and affection. I was still trying to figure out who I was, who I wanted to be and the best way to get there. So I dated older men, guys that I didn’t realize I wanted guidance from because I figured they were further along life than I was. Can somebody say daddy issues? Yeah, maybe, but that’s another post. I could see that they were as broken as I was, but I’m a healer, right? Healing and taking care of all boo-boos is my God given instinct. Nope! I wasn’t a healer, I was a binder. I was a perpetual, professional, walking, talking shot of lidocaine and over sized band aid. I would soothe and cover their lacerations, ignoring that wounds were deeper than I could reach; while completely ignoring the fact that my own wounds that were growing from the efforts of helping someone else. By the end of the relationship, they wanted to get married and I was hemorrhaging. Nothing like seeing your own blood to snap you out of whatever infatuated fog you’re in.

Now I’m old and all stitched up, feeling like only God could possibly love me. And He Does!​ But He also wants me to find Him in community and people. I won’t lie, with the shot of tequilla the society seems to be on right now, that is Not an easy task, but I’m working on it. Ask God to show you a safe place/person so you too can get ministered to.