Dear Sister,
When I was eleven, I entered my first year of public school after being homeschooled for all of my previous education: sixth grade. The thought process behind this decision was to give me one year of elementary school, perhaps some grasp of the system and a few friends before the system threw me into the enormous fish tank called Lake Braddock Secondary School. That is, a building that could dominate its own city block and boasts the enrollment of 4000+ students, both middle and high schoolers.
While this thinking is perfectly sound on paper and perhaps even preferable to entering LBSS as a seventh grader, there were a number of things I was unprepared for, going into the sixth grade. Before the September of 2005, I’d never known what it was to feel rejection, to understand that what I had to offer, all of me, unfiltered and unrestrained was not good enough for all situations at all times. I had no idea that being my full self could be considered too much.
The short story is, I thought I could hang with the cool kids, didn’t have an inkling that I was not one of them until I was told in words I still remember today, “don’t you get it? We don’t want you.”
Wow. That lands like a ton of bricks. How do I describe the hurt? The pain? The feel of being blindsided by a weight that knocks your breath away and then lands somewhere around your heart, latching on, and pulling it down?
Well, I’d imagine many of you have felt that before. I don’t have to describe it because you already know how it feels.
What I didn’t realize at the time was that moment was a turning point for me. Now, I act out of habit; analyzing new situations and people, seeing how much of myself is going to be accepted, trying to figure out how to present myself, which pieces to show, which ones to hide, all in an attempt to make a pretty enough package so people will approve of and accept me.
It’s a safety mechanism, it’s how I protect myself.
Well, it’s one of the ways I protect myself.
But that one moment, that one breath of air coming out of another person had such power to shape me and the way I live my life.
Maybe I could have done something, could have chosen to be brave and continued to be myself, after all, I was eleven, I knew I had a choice in the matter. But I was eleven. And no matter what people say about sticks and stones, I believe words have the power to cut far deeper than the surface. A stone may leave a scar, change the shape of your skin where it hit you. A word can slice into your very being.
But this is a sad, if not depressing story, so why am I sharing it?
Well for one thing, I’m learning to be, (shudder), vulnerable. There’s that word again.
But mainly, I share this because that’s not the end of the story.
It has been no secret to me over the years that day changed me. I still remember the words, I still remember the name of the girl who said them to me. I’ve tried to forgive them and let it go on multiple occasions, but it wasn’t until training camp when we talked about unforgiveness and shame that I was really able to release what happened in my spirit.
When we talked about shame, our leaders told us to get together with a couple of sister from our group and talk about the shame we carry.
Shame comes in a lot of different sizes and in a plethora of different colors, but most of us deal with it in one way or another. But it’s sinful because it doesn’t lead us back to the Father, it just pushes us deeper into self-loathing instead of prompting us to change and seek help.
I was able to share with my sisters what happened in sixth grade and how that has affected me to this day. And because they’re my sisters and see me with the love of Christ in their eyes, they look and me no differently and they love me no differently. In fact the sharing we did that afternoon only proved to draw us closer together in intimacy and love because of the trust we’ve put in each other.
The amazing thing about forgiveness day was that I was able to finally release those names, those words, and that weight around my heart. I could feel it lifting off as I said the words; a weight I hadn’t even known was there.
Freedom is beautiful. Freedom is buoyant.
Freedom is a smile and the purity of the knowledge that I am loved and accepted for all of who I am. Unconditionally and unreservedly.
Love and blessings,
Carole 🙂
