I didn’t think I’d post another blog on here, because frankly I’m not one the race any more, but this is eating me alive and WordPress is too complicated for me to try and understand right now, so…
I’m afraid of things I’m not afraid of. I didn’t realize it at first, but recently it’s dawned on me that I am afraid of things I am not afraid of. Now I do understand that that doesn’t actually make sense, so let me explain.
I’m not actually afraid of getting up in the morning and going to work. Waking up with five minutes to spare, throwing on an old tshirt, praying it’s clean, looking for the nearest pair of jeans hoping the shoes I’ve stumbled upon first match, brushing my teeth, no time for hair (as usual) and still finding myself arriving fifteen minutes late. I’m not afraid of coming home at the same time every day, killing time doing unimportant things until people won’t look at me funny if I say I’m going to bed, (which lately has been 7:30). I’m not afraid of a nibblerz meal, hold the sauce, with a sweet tea from Zaxby’s at 1:13 pm every day, sittiung in my car eating it and waiting and watching for the time to come to clock back in.
But oh I am so, so afraid of it all. It’s like I am a deer walking around my own way, lazily, doing whatever it is deer do and then I am caught in the head lights and if I don’t move quickly it will be catastrophic, but somehow I just can’t move. I am paralyzed with the reality of my situation and I am stuck in limbo, neither coming nor going, simply existing and if I don’t move now it could be catastrophic, they could hit me. They could hurt me.
But wait, is this even what my life is supposed to be? Showing up to work my first few weeks and repeatedly being asked by everyone why the pretty girl wasn’t there any more, and actually caring that I was the opposite of the pretty girl? And then thinking that maybe it was my fault. Maybe I should get up earlier and my goodness, at least brush my hair…maybe I should eat better, or I should work out because they want me to or because maybe I could be the pretty girl if I wasn’t already the fat one, because let’s be honest, do people really think someone can be both? Maybe I should go here and meet these people, and wear this make up, and cover up my tattoos because they probably wouldn’t like them or me for that matter, and maybe I should laugh at that joke and watch this show and, and, and because who I was, who I have been, who I am clearly is not good enough. I am not enough.
And then it hits me again. I am deathly afraid of things I am most certainly not afraid of. I have never cared at all what you wanted me to do, or how you wanted me to be. You want me to brush my hair? I can count on one hand twice the number of times I’ve brushed my hair in the last two years. You think I need to work out every day because I’m fat? You want me to cover up my tattoos because a nice young lady shouldn’t have them? Especially not a Christian? You want me to dress nicer? Take my nose ring out? Wear more makeup? Be funnier? Be smarter? Be happier? Be the old Mary? Sweet merciful Mike, NO!
It’s hurts me to try and fit to your standards, because that’s not how God made me. It literally makes my stomach hurt. He gave me this really cool, unique identity that, up until the last few months I’d been really proud of. I liked who I was. Who He made me to be. I was content in my identity, excited to grow more into who I am, but also excited to be me. I didn’t feel alone, I didn’t feel unnecessary, or over shadowed by what people thought I was supposed to be and the weight of knowing that I probably couldn’t actually ever be that.
But now I’ve let you dictate my identity, who I should be, and I am afraid. Afraid of things I’m not afraid of. The deer in the headlights, frozen. I know I should move, I even know which way to go. I know what’s right, I know there’s nothing for me in the middle of the road, but here I stand under an invisible pressure so heavy there is nothing to do but stop and stare and wait for your impact.
I know that sounded ridiculously grim and angsty and angry and I sort of definitely meant for it to be that way. I won’t apologize for it. Although I know you’re all thinking, “Well Mary, we don’t think that about you, and even if we did you are the only one that can change and don’t let the muffles keep you down and blah blah blah.” I know, I know. And I thank you for your thoughts. I think sometimes there’s more growth in times you don’t choose what you know to be right. I know that sounds stupid, but I think the extra measure of grace that is extended in those times always makes you weep a little (or a lot) and His unfathomable love at the end of my angst reminds me exactly why I turn to Him and run to Him and jump back in His arms and let Him remind me who I am to Him, and because He fought so hard to love me and to show me even when I absolutely would not believe it, that when I finally did it was so much…more. I hate taking advantage of grace like that, but I am so thankful that even when I’ve lost it, He hasn’t and most importantly, He’s got my back.
