I feared being gauche; I feared my own insecurity. Mostly, I think I feared wanting to matter - to be validated as a worthwhile human being with a heart, and a vision, and hope. More so, I suppose that I was desperately consumed by the terrifying thought that someone might baldly out me completely as a person of naught. I feared that they would sneer down with expressions of disgust as if it would be absolutely fraudulent to even seek such a thing as personal worth.
Unease littered the majority of my twenties; bouts of anxiety and struggles with eating disorders haunted, dominated, and scored my daily consciousness. And yet, through a variety of experiences – loss, divorce, endless moving – all of these sparked an insatiable hunger and unwavering need to truly understand what universal and inviolable definitions of importance actually were.
I soon realized with a thud of shock, awareness, and epiphany, that many of the people who seemed put-together also had moments, events, and difficulties when they, too, were also hanging by a single thread. There never had been a chasm of unworthiness separating the darkness of my mire against what I thought was a halo of what appeared to be "making it". I had pitted myself against them to my detriment and struggling wounds, and in an unfairness to the unseen challenges these apparently perfect people likewise endured.
I realized what a misnomer it had been to be so beguiled by first impressions and other (mis)perceptions because they truly carried with them unyielding opinions similarly steeped in stigma, double-standards, and/or unforgiving judgment. Who was I to decide, based upon appearance, the status of their lives? Who was I to mindfully compete and tap the gavel as if to condemn myself as much as I did them?
For condemn, I did. A sentence that fueled comparisons, ruminations, melancholy, and so much jealousy (although I was loathe to admit it). Oh, how I realized that the pay-off for remaining in self-sabotage was often the feeling of entitlement to criticize others. I had allowed the disinherited opinions from a few trusted relatives in my early teens to reign over my consciousness and tear me apart. None of them had been true, but I fed upon those inaccuracies while drowning in my own.
I had worn my scars as a shield and tendered my broken spirit as if I had somehow solely been dealt a hand of cards in life given only to the dispossessed and undeserving. I had remained within safe pain because I knew its boundaries and parameters; and while it was dark and empty, and filled with oceans of tears, and a litany of my perceived failures, it was mine.
As I moved into the steady grace of my late twenties and stepped across the threshold of my thirties, I came to realize that those who reached for perfect, strong, and put-together -- those who sought the best of themselves in unwavering belief and potential, were the bravest for sure. It hit me squarely that it was neither fraudulent to own inherent worth, just as it wasn't fraudulent to enjoy life to its absolute fullest amid difficulty, strife, illness, vice, or other pain. Every day presented itself with a mindful decision to either retreat or believe.
I realized that we are all a little broken but beautiful, weak and yet strong, but oh-so-perfectly human. Maintaining a garrison of determination and approaching life with tenacity against whatever odds, looks different to each of us. I would advocate that there is no such thing as a chasm that separates us - none. Every single one of us have moments, days, or even weeks of lows; but weakness does not constitute unworthiness, neither do the varied ways each of us might choose to push up and through.
We are magnificently human -- whether reaching for the best of life in outright determination, or quietly and needfully blanketing ourselves in the midst of a raw situation, loss, or experience, is perhaps the most valuable, vital, thing we can do. Life is a series of pockets of personal awareness; no timeline or condition should serve to mandate behavior, beliefs, thoughts, healing, or change.
Grief is a thing.
Sorrow another.
Circumstances come, and go.
As do loss, renewal, growth.
And whether some people might appear perfect and put-together while others of us might feel like we stand out within our struggles, we share one truth: the sanctity of personal worth.
What I have come to know is that when and if any of us are prompted to speak, comfort, or reach out to others - regardless of first impressions - it is paramount that we do so. It is paramount that we don't talk ourselves out of it due to our own limited self-perceptions or roaring inadequacy. God works through each of us at the right time and the right place. We're all needed, important, loved, and have been blessed with the histories of our lives to that end; to build, understand, reap, and to expand our capacity to step into worthiness, explore it, magnify it, and to share vulnerability.
Sorrow and anguish provide an opportunity to seek deeper meaning. There is profound substance to Psalm 30: weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. It didn't say that there was only ever weeping in our lives, or only ever joy. It did not say that some of us were inherently broken while others blessed to be untouched.
Sorrow earns wisdom, develops compassion, and is then administered to by Joy. Joy would not, could not, even come into being without previous soul experiences in the darkness of the deep.
Sharing vulnerability recognizes even the smallest hauntingly weak threads in ourselves and others, allowing our mutual stories to weave these together into a binding rope of valuation, validation, and hope. It is a tow-line out of even a single foray into murky waters -- especially for those who might appear outwardly perfect, put-together, strong.
And for its history, when the dawn breaks, Joy is unrepentant in its zest for the light. Joy rightfully demands to sit upon a throne of hope while feeding off of the richness of belief. Joy partakes of trays of gratitude and thanksgiving - ever remembering the pain, but remaining grounded in the miracles that continue to gently and lovingly confirm its seat.
Joy is bold, but cannot be in truth unless clothed in humility and mindful of compassion. Joy shapes the footsteps of creation after turbulent waves have cleansed the sand of a previously littered path. And then Joy seeks to magnify the light in reverence and steady commitment to the humanity of the night.
- Living Joy - This Carman Girl
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