I don’t want to tell you this.
I’d rather write about anything else. I was writing a blog on packing…that’d be good…maybe something about Mongolia or China…anything but this.
This thing that I don’t want to say?
I’ve been living in shame.
shame.
It’s a stupid word. Because we don’t talk a lot about it, and yet it coats a lot of what we do every single day. We should probably take notice, but we don’t.
Or maybe we do notice, and we try to avoid it. I tried to avoid it. And here I am. Blogs are a very good way to stop avoiding things. Jesus told me that.
SHAME.
Brené Brown (author of Daring Greatly – check it out. it’s a real gem) is a shame researcher… aka she talks about shame a lot. Some of her words and definitions really helped me wrap my mind around shame:
Shame is the feeling of not being worthy of real connection. Not being worthy of love or belonging.
Shame is thinking that because of something you’ve done, or not done, or experienced, or failed at, because of that, you are not enough. Nothing you do will ever be enough.
Shame is painful.
Shame is real.
And we don’t talk about it.
I’ve been living out of a place of shame. I’ve been living out of a feeling of unworthiness; of “who I am is not good enough. What I do or say or feel is not good enough.” I lived it as a kid, as a teen, and even now. The shame dagger rears its ugly head more than I care to admit, and sometimes it gets stabbed into my stomach and hurts like hell.
My shame is that I find my identity in a lot of things other than Christ. A LOT.
When I was in high school, I found my identity in each of the roles I played in the theater. If I didn’t get the part, I wasn’t good enough. If I did get the part, I let it define me.
And then I got to college, and found my identity in where I lived. What I did in my free time. Who I hung out with.
And now I’m here, on the World Race, and once again I’ve put my identity in a lot of wrong things. I put my identity in being a racer. In being friends with so-and-so. In being the girl who’s good at packing.
My shame is that I believe if I can hide behind ‘things’, good looking things, adventurous and exciting things, if I can place my identity in those and claim those as “me,” then no one will see through to who I really am. And if no one sees who I really am, then they’ll like me. I’ve fallen for a really long time into the trap that says without those fun and exciting things surrounding me, I’m no good. I’m no fun. I’m not interesting or cool enough. I’m not enough.
So I run, and I hide, and I attempt to trust things that are not my Savior. I attempt to trust things that will fail. And as they fail over and over, the shame dagger is driven farther and farther in. And I’m left doubled over on the floor, searching again for what will make me enough. For what will make me worthy of love. For what will let me belong. Because I’ve been told I won’t be worthy on my own.
But here’s the plot twist: I AM WORTHY ON MY OWN. Without any security of where I live or who I’m friends with or what I do, I AM ENOUGH. Just me. And if everything goes wrong and I move and have no friends and can’t seem to do anything right, I WILL STILL BE ENOUGH. And you wanna know why? Because JESUS SAID SO. (Emphasis added because THAT’S GOOD TRUTH.)
In Nepal I got a tattoo that tells the world “she is mine.” That I belong to Jesus. That He’s claimed me. That my identity lies in HIM, and it is not dependent on anything I do or don’t do.
I got a tattoo so I would start believing the truth. Well, that was 8 months ago, so I’m obviously still working on it. (Tattoos don’t fix things, y’all. Just fyi.) But I don’t regret it. My tattoo gives me a daily reminder of His truth being spoken over me, and what I want to be lived out in me. My identity is in Him. And if He’s enough (which He is), then I’m enough too.
Brené Brown said “shame derives its power from being unspeakable.” So if I want to suck my shame of its power, I need to wrap words around it.
So here I am. Writing this blog. Telling you my shame. Telling you that for years, I’ve been living like the real me is not good enough. Constantly trying to prove to someone else that I’m worthy of being loved. Well, I am worthy. But not because I’m a racer or because I’m adventurous or because I like the same things everyone else likes (which I don’t).
I’m worthy because He’s worthy. And I am His, and He is mine.
Today, and tomorrow, and forever, I pray that I will learn what it looks like to live in that truth.
