A letter to my beautiful, smart, hilarious, sexy, dramatic, golden-hearted sister and all her friends who own sets of amazing adjectives:
Be careful with you. “You” is unique. “You” is beautiful
with a hilarity that is contagious. “You” has that smile that can light up a
room. “You” is a singular, a person, an “a”; not a lump sum, not a face in a
crowd, not another girl among girls, not another body among competing bikini
contests or snapchats, or Instagram posts. “You” is a depth that cannot be
reached because of the fathoms of “you” there is. “You” is a complexity so rich
that if “you” was a color, that color would not even be on the spectrum. “You”
is not made for a box or a lens frame or a hookup, or guys who don’t care to
know more than a few of those adjectives. “You,” well, you’ve gotta figure out
who “you” is, in all your complex you-ness.
The past few years, I forgot that I owned my own set of
adjectives. Instead, I believed what our narcissistic, degrading, and selfish
society wants us, as girls, to believe. (Parenthetically speaking, our stinkin’
culture puts similar-but-different pressure on guys, so don’t think that I
blame them for these problems). Namely, that we are not enough and we are too
much: too pale, too fat, not fashionable enough, not funny enough, too flabby,
not pretty enough, not talented enough, not toned enough, not sexy enough, not
smart enough, too quiet, too loud (paradoxes abound, right?!).
I took on a fatalistic (“what will be will be”) and
materialistic (all that exists is right here and now – think YOLO gone bad, uh,
even worse) mindset and philosophy and began self harming, but not the way you
think of self harming.
You see, I own some adjectives I am proud of. But I also own
some that I am ashamed I picked up along the way. They are true, nonetheless,
and humble me when I want to join back in those stupid competitions our society
loves to make girls play against each other (think “Hunger Games” on estrogen –
hey, as an experiment, just try not to compete with those other girls – I
guarantee that they’re so tired of competing against you, too).
My self harming came from not loving myself (that’s where
all self harming comes from, by the way). Instead of taking the time and energy
to love myself by doing things that make me feel alive (writing, studying,
cultivating good and true friendships, traveling, teaching, cooking, singing,
playing the piano, trail running, blogging, kayaking, taking pictures, learning
other cultures, sharing the Gospel, painting, and many, many more things I
haven’t yet tried), I used people. And a funny thing happens when you use
people: they use you right back. But what’s crazy is, at the time, you really
don’t’ notice, and if you do notice, you don’t care. Why? Because you’re not
loving yourself. And when you’re not loving yourself, you don’t care. The
philosophy of materialism, right? Uh, I mean YOLO!
I found myself asking guys (the same ones with insecurities
and unfair pressures of their own) questions. The very questions that society
told me I was “too much” of or “not enough” of. I started asking “Am I
beautiful?” or “Am I funny?” and when those questions didn’t get answered, I
settled for asking “am I useful?” and “do I make you feel good?”
Sometimes I got the answers I wanted. But after awhile,
those answers left me more confused. I felt so far away from the “me” I once
knew. The “me” I actually liked.
I forgot that I’m a proper noun, not a series of unnamed and
unknown pronouns.
I forgot that I have a Creator who delights in me, draws me
near Himself, and romances me. I forgot that my personhood is something so
unique for this time period and this culture, and the people around me. I
forgot that I am a mystery, but I am meant to know and be fully known. I forgot
that when I was conceived, I wasn’t simply matter forming, I was KNIT together
by an Artisan who is proud of His work. I forgot that my personhood is so
special, that the very Maker of heaven and earth was at my birth and will be
there at my death.
And because I forgot all of these truths, how could I expect
anyone else to remember and treat me accordingly?
All that to say, not loving yourself has consequences. Mine
came in the form of apathy and hating anything that sounded like a good ending.
Why? Because “what will be, will be.” “I can’t change my suck-tastic
circumstances, so why bother?” I thought. Not loving me caused
me a lot of heartache and physical pain. It caused me hours at doctors’ offices
and hospitals. It caused me shame and second-guessing and fear. All because I
cared more for the opinions of others instead of exploring my own adjectives.
So figure out the things that make you feel alive. You’ll
know them the second you do them because your heart-rate will increase and you’ll
sense a quickening in your spirit. You will find a connection between the work
you do and your soul. (Most likely, those life-giving things will be in the
form of extending grace and hope to those who need it most).
And never, ever forget that I love you. That means you’ve
always got someone in your corner, someone by your side, and when needed,
someone to tell you that you’re wrong. I’ll be here to remind you that life is
more important than “being a ten,” finding out whether you’re “hot or not,” or
even finding that one guy who can put up with your tendency to hog the bathroom
for hours at a time.
And don’t let fear define you. Choose love. Always.
Comments