I have always desired to be excellent at something. I also
have always struggled with a fear of rejection and the heartache that comes
with it. From the time in third grade when a boy walked by and said “Move it,
fat girl^,” this feeling of rejection and inadequacy has lingered over me.
It magnified throughout middle school and high school as I
pursued theater and was constantly rejected or typecast as the motherly
figure.* It didn’t matter that I showed
up early, that I put in the effort, that I went to special classes and theater
camps and invested tons of time and money into honing this craft. At the end of
the day, the roles went to the favorites, even if they never showed up to class
and when they did, were generally not “all there.”
After awhile, it just continued to sit on me-these feelings
of rejection, of inadequacy, of never being good enough. I also have a flair
for the dramatizing of every day life, so the day I failed my driving test, I
spent four hours weeping in my parents’ bed watching Gilmore Girls and eating
copious amounts of Cookie Dough Ice cream.
When I was never asked to any formal dance in high school or
even now have yet to go on a date, this feeling of rejection just magnified. By
the time I got through with college, I struggled tremendously finding worth in
myself. I also struggled with not feeling like I was really good at any one
thing.
Because of my fear of rejection, I dabbled in nearly every
extracurricular a child could do: theater, singing, softball, karate, dance,
4-H (which included raising rabbits, cooking projects, crafts, etc.), youth
group, baking, sewing, quilting, interior design and many, many more. Any time
something got too hard or I got rejected, I quit.
So by the time I graduated college and went on the World Race,
I knew I was good at getting rejected (though still not good with the feelings
that emerged), and good at quitting. I think part of me never thought I would actually
make it all 11 months. I knew I was decent at loving people, and wanted to make
a difference in the world, but didn’t really know how or what that would look
like.
Fast forward 11 hard, amazing, challenging, stretching
months. Now I know who I am (a beloved daughter of the King, wholly loved and
worth of said love, a princess, a co-heir, a co-laborer) and whose I am (the creator of the universe calls me His),
and this spirit of rejection and unworthiness has been broken off and replaced
by a spirit of love and acceptance.
Now fast forward a year-plus later, to today. I received
news of a small failure on my part-what really shouldn’t be a big deal but to
me, the dramatic, passionate person who is still working through rejection and
unworthiness to a place of self-acceptance and knowing I am accepted by Christ-and
I fell apart. I got mad and then I cried and then I cried some more.
But I noticed a difference: in the back of my head, as I
vocally protested and wanted validation of being good at something and desiring
acceptance, I hear whispers of…
I have not rejected you. I accept you. I love you. I hear your
pain but I want you to know that if you keep seeking your acceptance from the
world and its standards, you will be constantly disappointed. I, however, will
not disappoint you.
You are my beloved. You are my princess. I have given you your
life, your experiences, your passions, your gifts, your very person and who you
are for a purpose and a reason. I know right now you are having a hard time
finding what that is, but know it’s all inside you for a reason. Let me heal
you, let me speak peace over you, let me restore what has been broken and find
what has been lost.
Okay, God, fair enough…
A
lifetime of rejection…for an eternity of acceptance.
You
win. And thanks for winning. Thanks for living your life and enduring our
rejection to purchase our acceptance. Thank you for speaking life and truth and
challenging me to live as the woman you have transformed me into. Even when the
tears fall, you are speaking acceptance and love over me. Thank you.
*I realize lifetime is probably over dramatic as I am only
23 and though have lived what many would consider a lifetime worth of
adventures around the world and done a lot of amazing things, I still am, as it
were, only 23.
^Granted, he said it in a way that was how Helga told (Hey)
Arnold to “Move it, football head” and we all know she had a massive crush on
him complete with a creepy shrine in her closet that included a football head
made of chewing gum, so maybe this kid had repressed feelings but more likely
he was just feeling bad about himself and took it out on me… par for the course
in third-well life grades.
