Story time

Is it narcissistic to share your personal story? To talk openly about things that are wholly and completely you? To confidently express your hopes, your dreams, your desires out loud?  To bravely reveal your fears, pains, and heartaches to others? To candidly admit your flaws, failures, and shortcomings with ownership? Is it egotistical to open up your life and expect others to give two flips?

I’ve experienced many internal feelings since I started this blog a couple weeks ago. I’ve had a lot of self-doubt and concern of who would even be interested in my silly life and why would people take the time out of their busy schedules to read a few poorly constructed sentences of my thoughts. (Or more like a small novel in each post, because I’m super verbose and don’t know how to be concise. I can admit the facts. #sorrybytheway) I’ve chastised myself for being so arrogant to think that anyone would be interested in my internal opinions or remotely invested in my world. Or that anything I would ever have to offer could possibly apply to another person or provide comfort to someone hurting or guidance to anyone searching.

But here’s the deal: It matters.

My story matters.

  

And so does yours.

Our stories are what make us who we are. They matter, because they are the tales penned by the Master Author. We’re each a breathtaking mosaic comprised of broken pieces of a lifetime of experiences: feelings, joys, pains, victories, losses, transformations, longings, love – our stories.

I’m not composing this blog so that the world can gather in masses and fawn at my feet in adoration. Not at all. I’m compelled to write these posts, because I want to live in a world where people, especially women, are honest and transparent. I want to exist in a community where we can strip away the surface and dive into the guts of what make us human beings. Because when we’re merely human, we’re all the same; we’re all in this together; we’re all brethren enduring this human condition on earth as best as we can. I realize that if I want to live in a culture of acceptance and grace, I have to do my part to cultivate the love. Thus, this blog.

When other people are vulnerable with their truths, it boosts my courage to unveil my reality in kind. Likewise, at times when I have been upfront about the deeper parts of my humanity, I have proudly witnessed others step up and join me in that raw space created with tears of joy and of sorrow. On both sides of that coin, the authenticity has not generally been exposed in a public manner, but every time, the ability to lay down the burden of disguise for even just a moment in the presence of another human being has been a massive relief to the soul. That freedom to be yourself is worth pursuing with ferocity.

In any situation, one person must take the first step toward genuineness, or else we all continue to meekly parade our charades of the life we think others expect from us. Someone has to break the status quo and lead that conga line off the dance floor and into the basement of hidden things.

Could it be you? Could you initiate a Revolution of Reality in your world?

I’m certainly not the first one to call bullshit on that sparkling, cumbersome façade we proudly and shamefully uphold, but I want to stand up loud and proud and join the movement toward authenticity. That’s the world I want to live in, so that’s the life I will choose to lead. #bethechangeyouwanttoseeintheworld #clicheandtrue

I’m no longer going to listen to Satan’s casual lies about how self-centered I must be to have the audacity to put my words into digital ink or to verbally express them to those around me. I won’t succumb to the insecurity that what I have to say isn't worth saying or being heard. Or that the exposure of such grit would turn the world away in horror. This is my story, dagnabbit, and it’s real. It’s hard, and it’s broken, and it’s painful, and it’s beautiful, and it’s mine, and it’s real.

It is not narcissistic to share your story. Because I long to hear the stories of others, I’m learning that it is selfless. It is courageous. It is strong. And it is necessary.

We need each other. We need each other’s compassion and acceptance and love and space. We need your stories to know that our stories are valid and welcome and permitted. (Disclaimer: I will later contradict this statement by arguing that we do not need anything from anybody at all, but, instead, to find our personal integrity from within ourselves and our value from Christ alone. But for the purposes and language of this particular discussion, I’ll still stand by this statement.) Getting to know each other on a more intimate level helps us to further acquaint ourselves with the Author of our lives, and at the very core of our beings, what we most intrinsically need is to know God.

We do not need to feel like we must fit into a particular mold in order to also fit into a community. We do not need to feel like everybody else has it all figured out and we’re the only idiots who can’t ever seem to get it right. We do not need to continue pretending we’re someone false just to find a place in the world where we can artificially belong. We do not need to be judged by other people’s perceptions of our lives, nor do we need to pass judgment on others based solely on our limited awareness of their particular situation. We do not need to put on a happy face when we’re broken inside, because we don’t feel we are able to show any unpleasant emotions. We do not need to constantly keep our composure for the sake of someone else's comfort and hide our true selves in the process.

What we need is each other. We’re all people. We’re all humans. We’re all children of God created in His image for His glory. What we need is a safe place to be our true selves. What we need is the courage to be our true selves even when there is no safe place available. What we need is the freedom to discern who our true self even is.

Sharing our stories with one another helps accomplish all of these things. It uncovers hidden realities. It removes clouds of secrecy. It shines light into the shadowed corners of our fears. It joins individuals who have been dwindling away in isolation. It allows us to show compassion to others, because we know what they’re really experiencing. It helps us understand the purposes for behaviors and reactions. It eliminates pressure to conform to an ideal that is exposed as impossible to uphold. It lets us know that we're not alone.

I have recently made a conscious decision to actively pursue the woman I want to become, and I want to grow into a strong, bold woman who has the courage to explore, discover, and claim who I truly am. I’m realizing that it takes genuine strength to evaluate, identify, and express your emotions, and I’m up for the challenge.

I long to rest in an environment where the honest stories of people’s lives are openly and bravely shared, so I’ll open up the floor by starting with mine. This blog will explore my ragged and wonderful story, which God is perfectly authoring.

I humbly invite you to join me. I would love to have some company here.

What is your story? What aspects of your life make you who you are? What have you experienced? Witnessed? Endured? Accomplished? What has shaped your perception of the world? Of Christ? Of yourself? What are you scared to reveal to others? What are you hesitant to explore even internally? You don’t have to share your story with me. (Although I would love for you to and would be greatly honored if you did.) You don’t even have to share it with another person at all. (However, for the sake of humanity at large, I certainly encourage that you do.) But I implore you to at least share your story with yourself. The more you recognize the components of your own story, the more confidently you can identify your true self.

Grown-Up Snow Day

[My beautiful, snowy house]

Today is a snow day. You know how I know? Because I said so. That’s why. And that’s the only reason why in my case.

There’s no one else in my life to tell me so, which means I have to declare it on my own. I don’t have a principal to call off school, and I don’t have a boss that will close the office for weather events. (It is tax season, after all.) I just have to decide for myself what is best. I don’t have anybody to bounce things off of or provide advice or suggestions in times like these. It’s all part of my new, single life. I, alone, am responsible for me. 

Duh. That’s clear. I know you just read that sentence like it’s an understood truth for everybody in the world, and could I just be a little more Captain Obvious, please. But take a minute and think about it.

Sometimes, don’t you share your self-responsibility with other people? And isn’t that actually oftentimes kinda nice? When I was young, there was always an authority over me who had the final say. First, it was my parents. Then, in addition to them, my school teachers and other officials. As I got older, I gradually assumed more responsibility for my own actions, but still, I had the guidance of other people to help me navigate through each of life’s obstacles. Eventually, that partnership came in the form of a spouse.

Now, even though I am positive that my personal dysfunction and insecurities led me to participate in a relationship where I surrendered more of my individual control than is ever healthy, much of me, like I'm guessing many of you, still enjoyed sharing the responsibility of my life with another human being.

But now I can’t do that. Now, it’s all up to me. If I don’t do it, it doesn’t get done. If I want it done, I have to be the one to do it. And on days when I wake up to multiple inches of snow on the ground in Nashville, I have to personally decide if I’m going to go into the office or stay home. Sure, I take the news reports into consideration, as well as the actions of some close coworkers, but ultimately the decision is solely up to me.

So, this morning, as an independent, responsible adult, I woke up, saw the beautiful, terrible snow on the ground and still pouring from the sky, turned on the news, decided I’d wait a few hours before I’d risk the roads, and went back to bed. That sounds great, I know, and the extra sleep truly was, but I actually don’t want to be missing any more work. You see, I’ve already had to use a ton of sick time to cover the snow days from this unusual winter we’re experiencing, and I’m intending to save as much paid time off as I can in preparation of any unknowns that might crop up during the remainder of the year. When I skip work, I’m still the one who has to pay for it. So if I had it my way, I’d go to work today from 8:00 to 5:00 just like every other Monday through Friday and not have to worry about it. But today I had to decide.

I eventually woke up again at 9:00, which was truly fantastic; let’s be honest. But then I still had to figure out what I was going to do for the day. I equal parts wanted to spend the day tucked away in my pj’s snuggled up with my dog as well as go to work, earn my paycheck, and save that sick time for any unforeseen events in the future. Missing work and utilizing sick time ultimately hurts no one but me (although the office is essentially effected), and, likewise, going to work to ration my paid time off benefits no one other than myself. So I had to decide what to do. For me. By myself. #againCaptainObvious

I wanted both options, and I also wanted neither. And there was no other presence in my life to influence me either way. I’m not going to lie; there was a moment this morning I wished I could just follow instructions and not have to make any decisions. But that simply wasn’t the case. (I’m also not going to lie even more: There are many moments of many days that I wish I could just follow someone else’s instruction and not have to be an independent, responsible adult, having to make my own decisions. But now that’s never the case.)

So I decided to be a grown up and venture out into the white tundra to pursue my lively accounting firm smack dab in the middle of Tax Season. I had to decide whether it was time, whether I was ready, whether I wanted it, whether it was safe enough to risk, whether my primary responsibility was to my job or to my safety. I watched the final minutes of the news reports that mentioned slow traffic movement with surprisingly minimal accidents thanks to the Nashville cititzens who are heading advice to stay off the roads. I checked my maps app on my phone that showed yellow (slow) movement along my route to the office with no wrecks. I figured I could chance it. In that moment, I wanted to be in the office and all that comes along with that, more than I wanted to not be in the office and all that comes along with that.  #decisionsandconsequences

I got dressed, packed my lunch, said good-bye to my favorite pup in the world, climbed into my protected car, and pulled out of the safe garage into the fresh inches of snow. I received a boost of confidence when I saw a couple other tire tracks leading out of various driveways in my neighborhood, indicating that other people had also left their homes, presumably safely. I drove carefully on the side road, even though there is no one in my life to say “drive carefully” as I leave the house. I felt confident-ish enough on this freshly packed snow to make it to the office and get in a good day’s work.

Then I made it to the main road. I had to pass a car diligently attempting to evade the precariously nearby ditch. I had to turn down Taylor Swift and keep my hands on 10 and 2 to avoid treacherous ruts left behind by previous, brave drivers. I had to ever-so-slowly stop behind cars at red lights and then struggle to not spin out like those near me when we started inching forward again. I had to maintain control of my car when I slightly fish tailed on that downward slope near Walgreens.

And then I had to make the grown-up decision that this was not worth it. I wasn’t even to the interstate yet, and I was already feeling uneasy about the travel. I maybe could have eventually made it to work, but I didn't want to then have to drive back home in the dark on these same dangerous roads that could possibly have grown even worse over the course of the day. So I independently decided to slloooooowwly make a U-turn and head back the way I had come - a failed attempt at driving to the office, and a successful exercise in independent responsibility.

Nobody gave me “permission” to call it a day. Nobody listened to the details of my story and sympathetically replied, “Yeah, that’s not worth it. You shouldn’t risk it. Go home.”  Nobody was there to encourage me one way or the other. All of these things I took for granted for so long. Today, I had to decide what was best for me, by myself.

Today is a snow day, because I declared it a snow day.

I gave it my effort and still decided I didn’t trust my driving skills combined with my small car in these unsafe driving conditions. I came to the personal conclusion that I’d rather use 8 more hours (8 more hours!) of my sick time than attempt to drive to work and risk a potential accident.

I know this all seems so silly and trivial, but it's just today's current example of why sometimes it’s really weird being single. I know that people love and care about me, but on a daily basis concerning minute-to-minute functioning, my actions affect no one other than myself. Nobody really cared if I went to the office or if I stayed home. Nobody was frustrated or pleased by my decision to turn my car around, leading me to finally let out a sigh of relief as I pulled safely back into my garage. (Besides Chester, who acted like I had been gone for 58 hours upon my return.)

It’s strange knowing that there is virtually nobody else in the world who is even aware of what I decide to do on a regular basis, let alone who genuinely cares about it. There’s no other person who is as equally invested in my life, actions, decisions, and the coordinating results as I am. I don’t know if you can really relate to that unless you’re a single adult. I know I never could have before.

I went straight from school to marriage just like a “good little Christian woman’s” life is supposed to (another soap box for another day), and I never experienced true aloneness or the responsibility and freedom that accompanies it. Before, I would have absolutely said that each person is solely responsible for him- or herself, but I wouldn’t have known exactly what I was talking about. Yes, ultimately that is the truth, even in any sort of relationship. But sometimes, we take for granted how nice it is to be able to share that responsibility with someone else.

But then again, sometimes it’s nice to not.

Welcome to my life.

Writers gotta write

I'm a writer. 

It's who I am. It's what I do. It's a large part of my life, whether I like it or not. I can't avoid it. Nor, I'm learning, should I. It's the best way for me to process my world and to better understand my own thoughts, feelings, and emotions. It serves as my most effective form of therapy other than actual therapy, which is obviously the best therapy.

I've spent the last several months trying to ignore my urge to write. I've suppressed the desire and especially avoided starting this new blog. Even though I knew I would always contribute to another virtual home and claimed this particular web address six months ago in preparation for "some day," I was overwhelmed and debilitated by the prospect of starting over. 

But, then again, I've relatively successfully started over in nearly every other aspect of my life within the past year, so why not my blog, too? I want to woman up and put my strength and courage to work in this area, as well.

Despite my knowing that the purpose of this blog would be primarily for my own personal benefit, I am still aware that other people might eventually have the opportunity to read it, too, and I have felt like the opening post needs to be perfect. I've put all kinds of pressure on myself to be positive yet honest; succinct yet encompassing. I wanted to present a thorough introduction to what this little corner in the cyber world would ultimately be and achieve before it was made public, but I'm still not even sure of that myself.

Besides, it's incredibly scary for me to open my heart and soul up to the world-at-large. As a general rule, I'm a relatively raw human being. I purposefully strive to achieve transparent authenticity in my life, but when I do that in front of a potentially large audience, I'm exposing my vulnerabilities to be judged, critiqued, and remarked upon. That's frightening. What if people don't like what they read? What if people don't like who they see? What if people are offended or annoyed or irritated? What if people take the most sensitive parts of me and don't handle them with care? What if I reveal truths about myself that are overwhelming? 

What if I'm too much? 

What if I'm not enough? 

What if I have already, literally, expressed the crux of all of my insecurities in this very first post? Am I ready for that? Are you ready for that? For the past year, I know I haven't been. And to be honest, I'm not 100% positive that I am now, either. But it's time. It's finally time. 

It's time that I climb out from behind my own shadow of fear and into the light to clearly examine myself and discover who I am. And for me, I do that through writing. I don't know who I thought I was kidding all these months trying to not express myself in written word. It certainly wasn't my mother, therapist, or closest friends who have never stopped urging me to blog or at least journal again.

So, here goes. I'm declaring right now that I will (strive to) not care how this blog is received. I am fully aware that my self-worth is not dependent upon any other person's acceptance or rejection of me. I can't control how a reader will respond to what I'll write, whether internally or expressed. And that's okay. I am who I am, and I'm finally ready to share that person, despite my fears.

I can't make any promises of what this blog will become. I can't make any predictions of what the posts will primarily consist of. I can't provide any expectations of what you might or might not see lining this web page. All I know is that it will be real; it will be me; and it will be.