For The Complex Ones

We’re about halfway through January, the talks of “starting over” and “living better” still reverberating in our ears. Some of you might be on the other side of a defining moment or event, knowing that you can’t go back, but are stick in the uncertainty of moving forward. You’re aware that you’re made new, but unsure of  how to embrace what’s ahead without trying to block out what was (and probably still is) difficult to get over.

Where do I go from here? 

How do I let anyone love me while I’m still learning how to love myself?

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For most of our lives, we’ve all been fed some type of talk or teaching about the kind of people we should be, especially women:

 Be simple.

 Don’t make mountains out of molehills.

Do this, but don't do too much of that.

 The internet is constantly comparing one type to another, even if it is centered on praising what the rest turn up their noses at. In order to be deserving of romance, you must meet all these prerequisites, which seem to boil down to not having flaws, insecurities, or any kind of past that requires grace and patience.

When vulnerability is met with bristling and rejection, it’s common to resort to questioning and blaming ourselves. This is where the lines between truth and feelings become blurry, because what might look like reality could be all in your head.  It’s this kind of origami-like, hoop-jumping, obstacle course that makes having close relationships almost impossible. Intimacy seems foreign, because most of what you say and do has slowly become about the sake of someone else’s comfort. You don’t want to necessarily please or impress them, but you don’t want to push them away either. You’re trying to accept and love others as they are, but deep down you wonder if you’re sacrificing yourself, your own emotional well-being in the process.

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Complex and complicated are actually two vast different concepts, despite sounding similar. When labeling something complicated, it’s a way to deny what you know to be true, what you know must be done, but struggling to come up with the courage to acknowledge either one. Being complex is having multiple layers, a history filled with stories and experiences that maybe you don’t quite know what to do with. You’re not a victim, but you’re not merely a survivor either; by God’s grace and the skin of your own teeth, you’ve been through a lot and have come out the other side. It’s OK to not know right away, to leave a situation undefined and let the puzzle pieces come together on their own. Some days are peaceful, while others involve doing your best to hold it together. Life can be messy; it can be brutal, but it can be just as beautiful too.

It’s one thing to be captive, but it’s another thing entirely to go forth and be captivated.

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You can define, tailor, and project all you want, but intention does not necessarily affect perception. Keeping it surface level or “chill” does not mean you have control over anything; it will build up, it will come out, and most likely in a way that you didn’t envision or want. Stop trying to decide if someone can or should love you, and let them be the one to figure that out for themselves. There’s no formula or process for forging connection, and most likely you'll experience your share of slip-ups and moments that you wish you could take back.

 And if heaven forbid anyone run the other direction because you choose to be a human being, that’s their responsibility, not yours. Its tempting to cry out against the hypocrisy of saying that life is tough, because those that say it are often the ones too afraid to face their struggles, the pain that haunts them on a regular basis. 

You need people who will not only fall in love with your smile, but will just as equally love your scars.

We all have them, the things that add a bit of gray, even darkness to our existence. What labels some as simpletons depends on how they've dealt with it. They have memories, but they also have perspective and are at peace with what they can't change. 

It is possible to be both multi-faceted and whole, to go through hell and still find purpose. But it’s not a singular journey, or something that anyone can do without help. It’s true that you really aren’t the only one go through something, but if often feels that way because you think you’re the only one talking about it. I’ve been fortunate enough to find to find a tribe, people that know me well enough to affirm me and celebrate my quirks and complexities, but will still call me out on my bullshit when they see it. They’re an amazing support system, but they also remind of how just how strong a person I am, and that I can get through pretty much anything.

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Maybe instead of having to explain ourselves or constantly heed warnings toward those who cross our paths, we should just be. Be true to what you know and what you value, and leave the thorn-pruning to God. Let’s learn to see depth and complexity as a gift, rather than a curse that makes us outsiders or impossible to love.

It has taken me many years, but I’m warming up to the opportunity to be an example, to live fully in a world that is more inclined to gloss over and sugarcoat, rather than dig deep. I’ve been in the trenches of having to shine a light in darkness, and despite the time it will take, the risk is so worth the reward.

Even if that reward is getting to experience the freedom of simply no longer carrying the weight of a dire situation on your shoulders.  

It starts with acceptance, and honoring who you are. Perhaps one day, it will lead to love and celebration.

Thank you, Brad Paisley, for reminding us all that it's OK to carry a little thunder. 

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When Love Came To Stay

Why is it so hard for you to love yourself?

I repeatedly ask myself this question as I look at my reflection in the mirror, which is now covered in “name tags,” or words and phrases that come together to form a definition about who we are. This exercise comes from an e-course that I’ve been involved with called Be You and Love It, allowing me to wrestle with my own identity, but to also experience wholeness in the process. I can honestly say that it has been a lifeline, and am beyond grateful for the woman who created it.

Yet the question still remains…why is it so hard?

From a general standpoint, self-love seems apathetic, as though you don’t care for anyone else around you. If you speak it outwardly, you’re either labeled as conceited, self-involved, or perhaps even bitchy. In some Christian circles, loving yourself is akin to not fully loving Jesus, or not putting Him above all else. And whether I’m looking at it from a spiritual standpoint or not, it seemed superficial and preachy; as though by following a particular formula, you’d somehow find the answer and instantly feel good. And I can’t stand that kind of sugar-coated thinking.

In my own experience, it has been challenging because I was never taught how to accept the way that God made me, to embrace my imperfections as opposed to trying to hide or change them. It’s possible that those who should have been examples didn’t know how to love themselves either, therefore passing it onto me.  And because certain messages where coming from those older than I (most of them were adults and family members), it didn’t occur to me that their views were only one perspective. Even after I became a Christian, that perspective often drowned out God’s Truth.

That’s exactly why it has taken me thirteen years to fully understand the concept; wherever I turned, there was always somebody telling me that I was not enough, and I felt like I never would be.

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I suppose I’ve been afraid to love myself because it seemed to indicate that I had to walk alone.

“Do what you can for yourself, so that you won’t need it from someone else.”

But real love isn’t independent, least of all from God. It’s a partnership, an equal partnership.

Self-love is hard work, and to espouse it means to be saturated in the love and Grace of God. That love pours out onto you, and you in turn pour that love into others.

If we can love others, why shouldn't we be able to do the same for ourselves? It doesn’t always have to involve making a list of personal attributes or reasons why we have worth. I’ve realized that love and acceptance isn’t just rooted in identity; it’s about what we do for ourselves as well. We need to do things that make us come alive because being ourselves is how we truly live. It means setting boundaries, because we know that we can only give so much before exhaustion and resentment sets in. It means recognizing that some relationships are for a lifetime, while others are for a season. It’s knowing when to keep fighting and when to surrender. It’s taking responsibility for our own actions and choices, but understanding that we’re not responsible for that of others.

 For me, it’s nourishing my inner child that adores Disney movies, laughing at random moments, and going on adventures. If I can’t do that, I withdraw.

If love is allowing another person to be human, then we must give our own person that same permission.  Permission to show up, mess up, and not stretch ourselves to where we’re trying too damn hard.

To love ourselves is to merely be ourselves.

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I did the name tag exercise after I wrote those words in my journal; I needed to be alone, without distraction and without needing to explain what I was doing. I used yellow for the “bad” thoughts/opinions, and orange for the “good” ones. I started sticking the yellow tags on my mirror, an instrumental version of Bruno Mars’ “Just the Way You Are” came on my iPad, followed by Taylor Swift’s “Shake it off.” I don’t usually pay attention to signs or symbolism, but something was happening and it brought tears to my eyes. These words, many of which had been stuck onto me over a decade by peers and others in a state frustration, stared at me like a tiger waiting to pounce.

The orange ones were composed of a much shorter list, and I felt rather indifferent as I wrote them out. It seemed cliché almost, as though I’d heard those words a thousand times before and they no longer meant anything. I knew they were true to some degree, but I’ve always struggled with actually believing them. I can tell the difference between a genuine compliment and being buttered up; it’s why I shudder and bristle when a random guy calls me “beautiful” or “sexy” instead of being flattered. It’s a matter of trust, mostly, as opposed to words themselves. I can trust someone that knows my heart and has seen me at my worst, but definitely not a slime ball who only wants to take me home for the night.

But as I looked at them, I kept thinking how none of those names, good or bad, actually define me. Some of them are opinions and some are flat out lies. Others are just reality, and there are even those that have actually become assets over time.

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It really is a journey, and one where I continue to grow and evolve, one day at a time. I accept that it is not a singular transformation, and there are days where I’m going to dislike who I see and wish that certain things were different, like the fact that I am deep and sensitive. I’m thankful for those who have been a positive influence, and continue to be as I experience different stages and transitions. I’ve been blessed to know some amazing men and women who exude a confidence and sense of self that I’m almost jealous of. But I’m getting there.

Love does not need a thousand reasons or adjectives, but a simple foundation that offers quiet strength. I will keep saying this until I run out of breath: I am a human being and a child of God, and I rest in that. 

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