On Loving Myself When I'm Different

I have a picture of the way I think I am supposed to be. It is based on my family of origin, my upbringing, my experiences, and my environment. Unfortunately most of it is not based in the reality of who I am.

If I had to describe myself, I would say I'm a short, overweight, opinionated, sometimes angry introvert. What I think people want me to be is a slightly taller, slim, pleasant, soft-spoken, kind-hearted extrovert. I can pull off aspects of that persona for brief periods of time, but it is extremely tiring.

I know there are times in life when we all have to adopt certain personas to survive the current situation, but there is a part of me that resents it so much these days. Maybe it's all the digging, fighting, and struggling I have gone through over the past few years to try and unearth my real self. Maybe it's just getting older and being tired of expectations that are placed on me. 

I played the dutiful daughter-in-law last week at my father-in-law's visitation and funeral. A lot of it was genuine and who I truly am. But there were times when I knew in my heart I was playing a role while racking my brain to come up with the right things to say. Smiling as people told stories about Pop, while I'm remembering the rest of the story in my head. Listening while the speakers at the funeral recounted episodes that showed one thing from their perspective, while making me think the complete opposite.

The thing that's bothered me the most through all of this experience (except for the obvious pain my husband and children are feeling in the loss) is my own inability to cry. 

This man who died a week ago Saturday, who I had known since 1983, who had been my father-in-law and the grandfather to my children, and I can't summon up a single tear for him. 

There was a brief shifting in my being when I walked into his home the day he had died. That realization that he wouldn't be there anymore. A dampness on my lashes as I said my own final farewell to him before they closed the casket. Realizing how much had been left unsaid. A momentary catch in my voice as I did a reading at his service. And that's all. 

What kind of person knows another being for 30 years, yet can't shed a tear at his passing?

I talked with my husband about it. He's not bothered by it. His father and I had a rocky start to our relationship. He wasn't particularly impressed by me, and I thought he was arrogant and caustic. Plus he flat out scared me. Over time, we came to a detente, but it never really moved much beyond that.

I tried to fill the matriarcal shoes when my mother-in-law died, but I didn't have the wherewithal to stand up to my father-in-law. So we struggled for years with holidays and family traditions.

Over the past few months, as his health declined, I tried to take care of him by cooking for him, visiting, and doing laundry. He was not an easy man to help, and I often felt rebuffed. So I struggled along, trying to help him as best I could.

Maybe later on the tears will fall, inconsolably. Maybe I've just become too much of realist where relationships are concerned. Maybe I'm just different, and I need to embrace that.

So I'm working on loving myself through this time. Experiencing something new and unexpected. Something I really don't like about myself, but trying to be kind in that recognition. Because maybe it's not a bad thing. Maybe it's just who I am.

linking up with a love dare

Loving Yourself through the Tough Times

My family-in-law died on Saturday morning around 1:30. We knew it was coming. We'd rushed to his beside the night/morning before thinking it was the end. We'd spent the whole day and evening with him on Friday night. We came home to get some sleep while my husband's brother stayed Friday night. 

He called us around 1:30 to say "Pop" had passed. Everything's been chaotic since then.

I've tried to care for others and do all the right things. I've fed, hugged, prayed, laughed, talked, cleaned the refrigerator and freezer at his house. I've boxed and bagged, and picked out clothes. Helped plan music. Worked on his obituary, and helped pick out the casket.

I've smiled and been nice. And I haven't cried once.

Now I'm starting to get short with people. I'm tired. I need some time for myself and a break from being the go-to girl. But it's hard to let down when there's so much to be done, and so few people to handle it all. We are a small family, and my husband has worked tirelessly for weeks, days, and hours, even now trying to put together the video for the funeral.

And I'm starting to hear those voices in my head again -- you're selfish, you're self-centered. You're being ugly and rude. The fact that I'm tired and tired of helping is proof of what a terrible person I am.

The minister's lesson yesterday was (partially) on shame and guilt. I know he meant it to helpful and clarifying. Instead I found myself physically turning inward attempting to hide from everyone and everything.

So I'm working on loving myself through the tough times. I know God is with me. I know my friends are here to help. But, friends, I need you too. I need your prayers and comments to help me get through the next few days. 

I feel ashamed to ask, but that's where I am.

Will you help me love myself through this week?

linking up with a love dare

on loving the dark places in my heart

He sees all of them. All the time. I can pretend to hide them from Him, but I'm only hiding them from myself. 

The dark places in my heart. Fear that I am not good enough. Shame at my deepest desires. Judgment of my self. Judgment of others. Lack of compassion. Envy. 

The places that bog me down when I let myself recognize their existence. That drag me farther away from Him. That make it impossible to hear His voice calling me back to Him. His voice saying, "I knew that about you already. Come back. It's okay. I'll help you. I love you in spite of yourself."

Saturday I sat on a blanket on the floor of a sanctuary I'd never entered before. I sat with my head bowed, my beads in my hands, my shawl over my lap. And I listened. I told Him I was opening my heart to Him. I told Him my deepest desires. I cried -- not long aching sobs, just simple tears sliding down my face and landing on my hands. No choking or gasping. And I don't know if they were tears of sadness, hurt, gratitude, or joy, but I don't think it matters. I cracked the shell open a little more, and let Him come in deeper. I trusted Him to not take advantage of my vulnerability.

There was no epiphany. There is no sudden change in my life. I don't know if it will happen again (I hope it will), but I do know that something shifted. I acknowledged all those dark places, and I'm still here. He didn't strike me dead. 

A man cannot be comfortable 

without his own approval.

-- Mark Twain

I'm trusting in Him to show me how to learn to approve of myself. To see who I really am. Warts and all. To love myself despite my dark places. And maybe by acknowledging those dark places, I can spread some light in them while sweeping out the dust and cobwebs. Creating more space for Him.

linking up with a love dare

How to Love Yourself Even When You Aren't Lovable

I don't do well with lack of sleep. I know some people can just power through it, or caffeinate themselves through it. Not me. I hit the wall and get cranky, moody, and weepy. My eyes begin to burn, and my throat gets sore and my voice gets raspy. I become incredibly paranoid.

That's what happened this past weekend. And unfortunately I took a lot of it out on my husband. The one I wrote about last week. What a difference a few days, and a lack of sleep can make!

There's a natural inclination in my being to see everything as black and white -- people are good or bad -- no middle ground. That's a harsh judgment on others, and perhaps, an even harsher judgment on myself. 

So yesterday I stepped back from the past few days and acknowledged I had behaved in a less than loving way. I accepted that sometimes (especially when sleep deprived) my husband and I won't necessarily see everything exactly the same way -- but that doesn't make either of us "bad people". 

I decided to apologize to him. To take ownership of my mistakes, without deeming myself an utter failure, undeserving of love. I gave myself the opportunity to make mistakes, and bounce back from them.

Another step toward learning to love myself as God loves me.

linking up with a love dare

Attributes

My husband and I have our best conversations while driving or walking. Yesterday we spent most of the day driving from Atlanta to Gulf Shores, AL. We're taking a few days off just for us.

Unexpectedly my husband asked if I'd like him to tell me his favorite things about me. Of course I would -- I was just hoping they would be good things!

He listed off a variety of things: my faith, my intellect, my perseverance, my cooking skills, and my willingness to feed people whenever he asks me to.

My immediate reaction was to deny these attributes, or explain, or negate. Instead I told myself to be still and listen. Really hear what he was saying. As I worked to focus on his perception of me I felt pulled to start creating a complimentary list for him in my head. But again, I stopped myself. I listened to the positive things he sees in me. I tried on a few of those compliments just to see how they felt, and whether or not I felt that they fit. 

It's a difficult thing for me to say, and harder still to write, but he made some good points. And they were probably accurate. 

I was raised in an environment that told me not to "take pride" in myself for who I was. Don't think too highly of yourself or it will be your downfall. Add to that the spectre of abuse, and the impact that had on my self-esteem, and you begin to get a picture of how I developed this self-loathing that I fight daily.

So I'm not writing this post to proclaim how wonderful I am to you. I guess I'm writing this post as a continuation of the love letter I wrote to my body. It's a reminder to me that I am created by God -- all of me. And it would be pretty insulting to God to negate the gifts He's given to me. 


linking up to a love dare

How to Love Yourself

. . . when all you can see are the flaws and mistakes.


I look around the house, and I see dust and cobwebs. I see some peeling wall paper border. I see kitchen cabinets that need cleaning out, and a refrigerator that needs a good scrubbing.

I look at myself, and I see the extra pounds I need to lose. The hair that needs cutting. A wardrobe that is mostly yoga pants and long-sleeved t-shirts. 

I look at my To-Do list and see all kinds of things I have scheduled to take care of today, this week, and I wonder how well I'll do at accomplishing those things.

I fix a cup of tea and sit down at my computer. That's when I realize I'm doing it again. Comparing myself to everyone else -- only everyone else is actually this SuperMom/Wife that I have created in my head. All other women live up to her standards. All other women except me.

Who created this idea that we are supposed to excel at everything? It's easy to blame the media, and they deserve a lot of the credit, but I think it's Satan. He ingrains in me that I can be 51 and look as if I'm 24. That my house can look like the pages from a magazine. I can cook wonderful and amazing meals. Entertain regularly. Do craft projects, volunteer, do charity work, help my extended family, and be lovely and pleasant and energetic through it all. Oh, and did I mention in-depth Bible study and recreational reading as well?

Choices must be made, and sometimes the wrong choice will be made. Other times there won't be a clear cut right or wrong and I will be called on to choose, knowing I will let someone down. 

So how do keep on loving myself, when I know in my heart I will fail at much that I will attempt? How do I keep trying? 

First, I stop and breathe. Then I remember that I am not called to be perfect. That there are no perfect people out there, no matter what Satan tells me. There are only people, women, trying to take care of things and people and themselves.

Second, I stop and remind myself I am not alone in this journey. I am a child of God. I have an ever loving Father who is happy to listen to all my worries and even my complaining. I can tell Him how tired I am and how I don't want to have to do the hard things anymore, and He will not judge me or reprimand me. Rather He will love and encourage me, imbuing me with strength to do the "have to's". 

He will tell me how He loves me, no matter what I accomplish. And He will remind me that perfection is His business, and not a requirement for entering His presence.

So I make a list. I prioritize, and I do the best I can. Remembering that His reality is the only one that matters.


I am careful not to confuse excellence with perfection. Excellence I can reach for; perfection is God's business. -- Michael J. Fox


linking up to a love dare

Writing a Love Letter to My Body

Dear body,

I have decided to accept you as you are. 

When I was a teenager, I compared you constantly to everyone else. Changing for physical education class was an ordeal! My stomach wasn't as flat as everyone else's. My thighs were enormous. My breasts weren't cute and perky. I was 5' 1" and weighed 110 pounds soaking wet, but all I could think about was getting under that 100 mark.

I hid myself in loose fitting clothes. Apologized for my appearance. Worried constantly about how others saw me. 

I got married. He seemed to like my body, but he wanted me to exercise, which I heard as "you look terrible, and you've got to do something about it". 

I got pregnant -- twice. And had two difficult pregnancies. 

I acknowledged a childhood riddled with abuse. 

And it all began to take it's toll on you. I'm sorry.

It's taken a long time, but I don't turn away from the mirror in the bathroom anymore. I stop and I look. There are scars and stretch marks. My stomach is far from flat and my breast sag a little more each year. 

But what I see now (most days) is my body that has traveled all these roads and places with me. My body that got through the abuse. That carried and birthed 2 babies who are now grown people. My body that has learned that touch can be glorious and trustworthy. 

So I'm making you a promise today. I'm going to take better care of you, because you have taken care of me for 51 years. I'm going to take better care of you, because you deserve it and so do I. I'm not going to try and turn back the clock to some unrealistic size and shape. I am going to love you and me for what we are, what we have survived, and how far we have come.

Thank you for traveling this long and winding path with me. I look forward to many more years, filled with kindness toward one another.

M


linking up with The Love Dare