That moment the arrow flies straight into your heart, but it’s been prepared so instead of piercing through and ripping it to shreds, it instead performs the function of open heart surgery and cleans the plaque from your arteries.
That’s the day I’ve had. First with a conversation with a co-worker, then a fellow world racer, then my boss, then my college and career group and ended on an even deeper note with my little sister.
Words those close to me have been using for years suddenly take on new form and perspective. The meaning I had been understanding versus the meaning from their heart was vastly different.
“Too sensitive” had always crushed me because I felt like they were saying my emotions were too much for them to handle. What they meant was “stop allowing yourself to be victimized because you are stronger and better than that.”
“Fat” was a concern that I wouldn’t be able to do everything I wanted to because I couldn’t fit or I would be uncomfortable in. (Which is 100% true. My weight is what is keeping me from being able to go to the local zip line, and kept me from skydiving with my little sister – the harnesses simply don’t fit. And I always have to angle the camera down to hide my double chin.)
“Speak up” was meant to encourage me to vocalize what I wanted. To participate in the conversation. To be heard and be seen instead of bottling my needs and then bursting over the little things.
“Are you really going to wear that?” Came from a place of love. They were trying to say I was worth more effort. In those moments I was allowing my level of self-worth to show on the outside — and let me tell you that level was (and still is some days) pretty low.
“Just go say sorry and forgive them” at the moment it was said to me felt like the greatest betrayal. But years later I discovered it was the highest level of protection he could have provided.
My communication style was vastly different from my family’s. When I think back sometimes on moments where I felt crushed and unsupported, I realize now that those were the moments their love for me shines the brightest. Because in those moments they refused to feed into the victim. They didn’t give me what I wanted. They gave me what I needed.
Please don’t misunderstand me, there were MANY MANY times they gave me what I wanted: they sat through family meetings about temperaments and love languages and “Just listen and let me vent” sessions. My family is one of the most generous ones you will meet, and always giving meaningful and thoughtful gifts (even if they are turtle tanks instead of barbies – sorry Court). We say “I love you” countless times in a day and whenever one of us has a crisis, we gather together. We are each other’s safety net and we protect each other. I would say my dad is one of the strongest protectors I know. I could write an entire post on how strong he is (and I just might). My older sister comes a very close second to my dad. There are a plethora of times I claimed myself a victim of her and she took it when it was not her burden to bear. She doesn’t shy away from the tough stuff and the tough conversations. Instead of taking it in the spirit she meant it, I chose to be wounded over it. She was the first person to point that out to me and set me on a path to my greatest freedom. Her voice is a large piece of the story in me finding mine.
My family will tell you I’m the smart one. But really I’m just good with intellectual concepts and stringing together words. When it comes to the real stuff. To the tough stuff, my family is full of smart ones.
They are stronger than I ever realized, and God is revealing to my heart that so am I.
