God is perfect, in every way. Therefore if I am a creation of God, then that must mean that my imperfections, my flaws, the way I stumble through life is all according to His plan, because as a perfect God, I must have been created perfectly.
I remember that pit in the stomach feeling of being ashamed of myself when I was bullied in school. Standing in line after recess one day in the first grade, these two girls came up to line up behind me, like they did every day. And like always their hand would “accidentally slap against my backside” but this time they laughed harder than usual and one whispered to the other “Her bum jiggled more today”.
I remember feeling flush of being ashamed when I didn't meet up to the expectations of my own design, but when I didn't meet the expectations of someone else's, it was like falling in a deep hole of embarrassment and anger. The first day of seventh grade I walked into my English class. Mr. Talmage saw me and got a big smile then walked over to the desk I had chosen on the side where I thought I could be hidden, I guess I was wrong. He told me he remembered having my sister in his class and was really looking forward to having me in his class as well. Right then I set an expectation that I had to be at least as good as she was. Time and time again I felt like I was falling short; but then when it came time for end of the year projects, Mr. Talmage pulled out some of the work from his previous students. I remember sinking in my chair wishing that none of the projects would have my sisters name on it, unfortunately one of them did with a big A on the front. When it came time to get back our projects, I was given a B. I honestly don't remember anything else about this instance because in my mind I had not lived up to “My family's reputation” (of course as a 7th grader I dramatized this).
Sitting in my bedroom curled up in a ball, weighted down by the depression and anxiety that had grown to consume me. I couldn't get up, I couldn't talk, I couldn't even form a sentence in my head. I remember my mom sitting beside me begging me to at least sit up. Eventually after what felt like an eternity of this my mom broke down, and in her tears she whispered “Where did I go wrong? Have I failed you?” In that moment I sank lower than I ever imagined a human could ever go. I was a people pleaser, so willing to put myself aside for others happiness; and now because the shame I felt towards what was happening inside of me and my desire to just shove it all out, I was now in a place where it all couldn't be contained any longer. And in that moment, I broke my mother.
As a first time mom I was so consumed in my child. I spent my days snuggling her and soaking in every minute. I never wanted to put her down and the idea of taking a break to focus on me was just out of the question. Then one day when #LivyLu was about 6 month old we went out as a family. I saw mom with younger babies, I saw moms with much more kids than me, I saw moms pregnant and of all shapes and sizes, but still I felt like the elephant in the room. I was the one still wearing maternity jeans because the stretch band was the only thing that fit over my tummy. I was the one grabbing the diaper bag to “comfortably hold on my lap in case I need anything” but really to act as a blockade from anyone seeing my post-partum body. And I was the one who quickly left at the end of the church service because the tears of embarrassment, hate, and shame were too heavy to hold in any longer.
I’m a perfectionist. I jump to conclusions with wildly absurd assumptions that create fears that hold me back. I carry scars that hurt and are heavy. I set my expectations so high. I am a people pleaser. But above all, I desire to make my God proud in His creation of me.
Shame is something I’ve lived with my whole life. It seems to follow me and tear me down every time even though I feel like I’ve climbed a mountain and can finally stand on top and feel proud of myself. It's something I’ve felt so deeply and have too many scars to recount.
A few years ago a music artist who I love, Calee Reed, wrote these beautiful words:
When the light shines through me
All the broken pieces
Reflect His light
It’s a beautiful sight
I’ll give Him what’s left of my shattered heart
He’ll piece it together brand new
And each empty space that was damaged and dark
Will light up with His love and truth
Yes, that’s what His healing can do
Broken, and I am beautiful
He’ll use each piece
To make a masterpiece
From the ashes
He’s creating me
I’m Broken
Broken and beautiful.
Lately my eyes only see my flaws and the mistakes I make, and forgiveness has been so hard to find. But if I'm honest- I’m tired. My heart aches with emotions that are too big to carry alone. It’s too hard to continue to sit back because of a fear of shame. The pieces of my shame, embarrassment, regret, hurt and hate are a load I don't want to carry anymore. So I'm giving them over to my Lord and Savior.
I will put on my bathing suit. And with my jiggly body I’ll create memories of laughing and running around with my kids as we try to beat the summer heat.
I will allow grace in what I create and realize that imperfections are a beauty all in its own.
When I’m out on a hike with my family, it's OK to admit I'
m out of breath and need a breather, and realize that is part of being active with my family.
When I’m out in public I'll stop comparing myself and assuming the judgments forming in others heads as they look at me.
When I pray, instead of hiding a feeling of shame that I am not living up to the “expectations” of my Creator, I’ll give Him a piece of the pain I'm holding onto and allow Him to show me that even though I am broken, I am also beautiful.
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