If you asked me to list my proudest moments from life so far, I could maybe list off 5 things at a push. I wouldn't be able to tell you many details, just a few basic bullet points. If you asked me to list the times I felt shame, I will lose count. I will also be able to tell you how old I was, where I was, what words were said, who said it, who witnessed it and what that's meant for me further down the line. I'm not sure if talking about shame opens old wounds or starts the healing process, we shall see.
I remember being 7, looking at a photo of me after a ballet exam. Pink leotard, pink tights, pink ballet shoes, hair scraped back and my thighs touching. Looking at that photo I felt disgusted, I knew my body shouldn't look like that. I was not a good person because I did not look right. At age 7, my value was in how I perceived my body. At age 10, a boy in my class commented on my body. That was all the confirmation I needed. The years following didn't matter. One comment was all it took to know that I would never be good enough. Looking back now I still hate my body, I still hate how it looks, but I also hate that I've held this belief for almost 20 years.
Whilst babysitting on Monday I jotted some notes down for this post (don't worry, the baby was napping at the time!). I don't think I need to elaborate on this.
Hurt.
Told someone.
More hurt.
Told no-one.
Assumptions.
I let someone in.
Pain.
I shut everyone out.
Broken.
I gave up caring.
Shame.
Secrets.
Silence.
Safe.
Brave.
Speak.
For years, I've believed I'm broken. I'm worth nothing because that is all the world has ever told me. As I let God in to my life, some things started to change but I held on to some secrets. The words associated to things brought more pain, things I wanted to leave in my past. I was hurt because I was broken. I did not break because I was hurt. 2 summers ago, I got brave. I spent the whole summer learning to trust someone and then I used words I'd never used before out loud (I'd tried previously but was too poorly for anything to be done) And this person listened. She didn't laugh, or tell me I was lying. She hugged me. She prayed for me. Most importantly, 2 years later, she's still a friend.
2017 for me is about words. But sometimes I think actions speak louder than words. I'm thankful for several loyal friends. People who know almost the full story, and some who don't quite, but regardless they've stuck around. It's words that broke me; words I spoke over myself long before anyone else voiced my thoughts. While words can heal too, sometimes it just isn't enough. Action is needed. Love someone a little harder today.
Shame is an awful emotion. It destroys everything in you and your relationship with everyone around you. I battle every single day with some part of me- be it my physical being or my actions or someone else's actions or in fact my inaction but it's changing. It takes up less brain space. I'm getting there. Love changes things. Not just the love from others, or the love from myself but the love God gives. His abundant love is powerful. It's breaking down walls from long ago. God's perfect love casts out fear (1 John 4:18) I'm scared but I have people who don't run away from me and a God who loves me despite all my flaws. I'm laying myself out here because these are the things that have brought me to where I am today.
I'm posting this today because of someone at church tonight who was so plainly honest. I admire her and her strength and while she was talking I knew tonight I need to be open too and post this blog. I'm not posting this on my own strength, God has given me the courage to do so.
Isaiah 54:4 says
Fear not, for you will not be ashamed; be not confounded; for you will not be disgraced; for you will forget the shame of your youth, and the reproach of your widowhood you will remember no more. This verse has been in my head the entire time I've been trying to write on shame. What a comfort! The rest of that passage is equally powerful and I suggest you look it up. But for now I'm taking a deep breath and hitting publish.
