Honest, I choose champagne, relationships, smash the cardboard

I did this for me.

I just deleted about 500 words.
500 words of a spiral into not being enough. To being an island. To feeling lonely even when surrounded by people. To wanting a person for myself. To being a burden for the people around me.

I had reasons and lists and slips of paper in a piggy bank of every situation and action of others and myself that proves that point.
Sometimes, I wish I could be more vulnerable and open. I wish I had the ability to truly share the depths of who I am.
To eek out that last 20%.
I don’t like to write when I don’t have anwsers. I don’t like to write depressing collection of words that lack hope and movement and color.
I don’t like to let on that I’m not as strong as I come off.
I don’t like to write things that cause my friends to think that they’ve done something wrong- they haven’t.
I don’t like to put that on anyone.
But, I do like you, whomever is reading this to know that you aren’t alone.
I want to remind even one person that your struggles and battles and moments of insecurity don’t make you weak.
And I do want you to know that you are capable of changing parts of your story.
I want you to know that you are capable of being vulnerable and someone out there is willing to listen.
I have this friend who I’ve ironically only met once in passing, but due to the weird lives we’ve both lived and the fact that we are both Garmon birds, we have become really good friends.
Her name is Amanda and she lives across the country and we are the same person.
I never feel bad about texting Amanda about having a lonely moment. She knows most if not all of those. We send each other novels back and forth and sometimes it’s just for the knowledge that someone else knows.
She’s a person who gets the 20% of my story that not a lot of people get.
That this screen usually doesn’t get.
Because (as my friend Patrick will tell you) I hold on to that 20% with a tight, tight fist.
So, that comes down to the point of all of these words.
I believe I’m deconstructing a brick wall right now. I’ve been given that image by multiple people and I’ve seen it for myself so I know it’s true.
Each brick is a story, a moment, a hurt, honestly even a victories that I’ve placed on this wall.
Now, it’s time to dismantle it.
And some of them have been like ripping off a bandaid and others have reopened a wound.
Today, on my way here I decided to take a certain brick off.
Eight years ago on February 9th (a Thursday), I was hit by a car. I can still see it, feel it and typing these sentences have taken me at least three minutes.
Today I decided that February 9th is no longer going to be the day I was hit by a car.
The brick though weighty and full of a lot of hurt and anger and emotional trauma no longer had a place in my wall.
Febraury 9th will now be a day I decided to take a different path and a day while sitting there bruised and beaten eaten cinnamon toast crunch out of a mixing bowl, it became a day that I decided to take a leap and start living.
Am I terrified to give that brick up?
Yes.
Am I scared what might come through the hole in the brick wall?
Yes.
Am I afraid because I believe the wall is the only way to protect myself?
Yes
But, am I choosing to believe that light is going to come through the hole in the brick wall?
Yes.
I don’t know what parts of your story you don’t tell. What parts you don’t see clearly and what parts still bring you pain. I don’t know what parts of your story you hold onto with a tight fist and what parts you’ve made a wall out of.
What I do know is that somewhere along the way we’ve done all of this to protect ourselves from something.
And honestly, at some point, we probably did need protection.
But, at some point, what I’ve come to realize is that the armor has to come off, the wall has to come down and we have to take a step out and know that we are safe, even though we might get hurt again.
I want you to know that I believe in your ability to do that. I’m choosing to believe in my own.
You got this.
Let’s all just keep fucking going and see what happens.

Honest

if I’m being honest….(part 2)

I’d like to start this off with saying I’m not putting all the things out there that I discussed I would in part 1. I’m realizing the line between vulnerability and sacredness.

I think I’ve been putting off writing the second part of this blog because no doubt it’s a heck of lot more vulnerable and real than I think I really want to be.

But I do.

I want to be.

I want to put this ridiculous notion that is in my head on paper and then hopefully let it die.

In part one I mentioned a conversation with Catherine. My team leader, the person with whom I always ended up in a car with day one of ministry in a new country in a situation that could probably be clarified as stranger danger.

And above all, Catherine is an amazing friend of mine.

I wish I could remember where we had the conversation, what country, what month…a lot of me wants to assume it as in Romania…

 (This is all just me procrastinating actually writing about the conversation)

 Anyways…I made an offhand remark about not getting married, not wanting to have kids etc.

I put my wall up and leaned on it like I always do.

Image

Cat took a sledgehammer from the other side, put a wall and peeked over.

She wondered if I didn’t want kids because I didn’t think I’d ever get married.

Gosh thanks Catherine.

 If I’m being honest…yes that is probably a part of it. I am fearful I am never going to get married.

Never going to be wanted in that way.

deep breath

And it’s not just me.

I’m never the girl people assume is going to get married.

No one ever assumes that I WANT to get married.

No one ever set me up (or attempts too)

I’m rarely told “you’re man is coming”

And yes, it could be how I look.

It could be that I have a nasally voice.

It could be that I’m shy.

I don’t know why I’m stuck in this category for a lot of people.

My hands are shaking as I write out the hurt I felt each time this situations popped up. Because each time my name wasn’t brought into a conversation about future weddings and husbands and kids…

Ugh.

And I’m not blaming, I’m not accusing.

I’m just saying it hurt.

And at the time I didn’t have the words or the emotional capability to form the sentences to say that it hurt.

I look at life a little different now and I can see it hurt and it probably ingrained itself deep into me.

And yes, there are probably multiple defensives etc. that I put out that cause people to think

 “oh that girl just doesn’t want to get married”

 And maybe it’s because I don’t.

And maybe it’s because I don’t think I’m good enough.

Maybe it’s because marriage isn’t in my DNA.

I don’t really know.

And that’s ok.

So this isn’t a huge revelation or something that comes from Jesus.

But it’s me.

Recognizing hurt, hearing my heart, choosing not to get

caught up in something that I might not ever want to get

caught up and also making the decision

to keep things sacred in my heart.

Thanks for reading.