Shame Verses Me

I have been reading a book* about a transparent people. They are so open, that they can read each other’s minds. They do not lie, they have no secrets, they are not ashamed.

I was recently learning about picture books where the pictures tell a different story than the words, not only are the stories different, they contradict each other. I wondered if I could write such a story about my life: the narrative, what goes on in my head, the pictures, a depiction of my life. Would they contradict one another?

I am not prone to cry, even less likely to cry in front of others. Recently I found myself in tears, video chatting with SJ’s mom, feeling uncomfortable as I allowed her to see my humanity.

I have secrets. I am ashamed of who I am. I constantly fear the disproval of others. I am afraid to be wrong. I am afraid that if others really saw me, they would not like what they see. Therefore, I ponder many different ideas, but I act in a way which I think will be agreeable to those around me. If I do not know how they want me to act, I freeze. I do not think people want to see the negative emotions floating inside my head. I doubt they want to hear my apathy, I can’t be bothered to share much of it anyhow. I fear that if I share my fears and anxiety, others will fear what I fear, or they will disregard my fears, and disregard me, as nonsensical. So I hide my feelings, I hide my thoughts, I hide me.

This is a challenging way to live, and it be sure, I don’t think it is at all good for my mental health. My physical health seems to be suffering too. I want to change, I want to improve. I want to change the name of this blog, post it on my Facebook, and walk around naked (at least metaphorically). Change is hard, and I am afraid. Part of me is afraid that I don’t really know me, I don’t know who I am, not sure who I want to be. A big part of me is afraid that people will not like me if they see the real me. They will learn that I am pesky and miserable. I want to be a happy person, but when I am not happy, is it wrong to pretend to be content for the sake of others? Perhaps rather I should ask, is it helpful or harmful to pretend a mood.

It is also important for me to remember that I am allowed to change. Though posting on the internet is much like writing in indelible ink, and my past has very much shaped me, it does not define who I am today. My feelings, positions and perspectives are allowed to change, and are encouraged to do so. The aforementioned book* discusses how changing and improving are crucial in our lives, and provide us with purpose and meaning. The people have names that change and develop as they learn and become new beings. They celebrate who they become, they celebrate their accomplishments, not to boast, but as a way to acknowledge the goodness in and around them. They know who they are, they recognise their value.

Who am I? I am a child of God. Perhaps my greatest value in this life comes from being a child of God. Because he is my parent, I have potential to become like him.  I am human.

I am a daughter of God. I do not believe I fully understand or appreciate this part of me. I do not mind being female, but I wonder if there are ways I can better be motherly towards children and youth.

I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I am a follower of Christ. I have chosen to take the name of Christ upon myself, and make and keep sacred covenants with my Heavenly Father. I desire to become like and follow Christ in all I do.

I am gay. I am particularly attracted to one woman, and I desire to express my love for her in a way that aligns with the pure love of Christ and the covenants I have made. I desire to speak more openly about my sexual orientation, but even when given an opportunity to share, I most often shy away. On a deep level, I am still ashamed that I am gay. Since I have yet to fully accept this part of myself, I cannot expect others to accept me.

I am a teacher. I love teaching! Perhaps one reason I so appreciate my job is that I can stand in front of my class, make a fool of myself and still be accepted. My inner class clown, the attention seeker I’ve always suppressed, has an opportunity to shine.

I’ve been taking anti-depressants for about 6 months now. I think they are helping, but I don’t want to rely on them for the rest of my life. I think if I can learn to be, love and appreciate me, I might not need anti-depressants any longer.

I am an auntie. I love my nieces and my nephew. I love spending time with them, though I feel like often my energy in inadequate.

I like to run, I like to bake, I like to write and I like to create, but interest in these hobbies waxes and wanes. These hobbies do not make me who I am.

These sorts of thoughts are not new to me.  They are not new to my blog.  I hope posting this post is the first of many steps to change. The process of reconciling myself with myself, may not be easy. Perhaps the next step will be changing the name of this blog, coming out to a few more people, or crying openly. Change may not be easy, but I believe it is possible, I believe it is worthwhile.

*Morgan, Marlo. Mutant Message Down Under. (HarperCollins, New York, NY: 1994)

Eyelash

We had transformed our basement into a theatre. The large room at the bottom of the stairs was divided into a seating area and the stage. The rooms which linked around the basement felt like secret passages and acted as our backstage. I sat with Celine it what was an undeveloped laundry room turned into our hair and makeup studio. I would have objected to the idea of makeup, but I knew I didn’t have a say. I had already heard her articulate the importance of stage makeup, and it was opening night. As she applied mascara, she commented on my eyelashes. They were long, and she said beautiful, and I didn’t care. “Someday,” she promised, “you’ll be grateful for them. They will catch the attention of all the cute boys.” I shuddered at the thought. She discredited my discomfort, and guaranteed that when I was a little older, I’d be grateful for my eyelashes, I’d want to know how to apply makeup to them, so they would jump out and capture the attention of men.

Age came, but I remained indifferent to my eyelashes. Beauty was something I hid rather than embraced. Baggy clothes offered a picketed fort of protection from where I could fire warnings at any male who got too close. More often than not, however, I just hid. I was glad that I was so successful, most of the time. Occasionally I’d wish someone would notice me. Honestly, I was always longing for attention, but I didn’t want the sort of attention I would garner by wearing makeup or stylish clothes. It didn’t seem to matter how much my age increased, my desire for the attention of cute boys, or men, never came to be. And just as I felt uncomfortable when Celine complimented my eyelashes, I continued to feel bothered every time someone suggested that I am beautiful. That suggestion had me worried that I might attract the attention of a man.
However, when SJ tells me I'm beautiful, I do not retaliate. When she tells me, my defence system is not triggered. When she tells me, I don’t think for a second that what she is actually communicating is, “don’t worry, some day, some boy will be attracted to you.” When she tells me, it is never with the suggestion that I wear mascara, fix my hair, or engage in any other activity to enhance my looks. She is talking about me, just as I am. When she tells me, she speaks both of my interior and exterior qualities. When she tells me, she believes it. And sometimes, when she tells me, I almost believe it myself.  When SJ tells me that I am beautiful, suddenly I care. I don’t want her to ever change her mind. I look at me in the screen and wonder if my nose is too pointy, if my wrinkles are to pronounced, yet I know SJ thinks I am beautiful. I also trust that as my wrinkles become entrenched, and all my hair turns white, she will still find me beautiful.

Blessed to Love

The main idea which stood out to me when my stake president laid his hands on my head and set me apart to serve a full time mission was that I would be blessed to love.  Even as he said it, I selfishly wished that he blessed me instead to be loved.  Though I do not always comprehend, I know the blessing he gave me is far greater than the one I hoped for.  It is greater to love than to be loved, harder too.  On my mission, I many times prayed that I may love those around me. Many times I was able to love them and focus upon them, rather than on me. 

I miss that blessing.  Now I am as I was before: I want to be loved.  I want to be noticed, valued, cared for.  I am seeking affirmation.  All of that I want on my terms.  I’m waiting around for someone to tell me I am spectacular.  I do not want to do anything to gain that approval.  I just want to be.  The truth is, when I laze around, I am not all that spectacular.  I am far from living up to my potential.  The truth is, as long as I am focused on others loving me, I am missing the point. 

I miss being a set apart missionary, because I miss that blessing.  That blessing, however, is not limited to me as a missionary.  Love is not just an attribute of a missionary, but a defining characteristic of Jesus Christ.   Now, even now, I, even me, can be filled with Christ-like love.  Moroni (Moroni 7:47) invites us to pray for that love, with all of our energy.  It is not that I should pray for that love, so others will love me in return.  Rather, I should seek to have Christ-like love that I may be like Jesus Christ. 

On Understanding

You say you want to understand, but understanding is a lot of work.  If you knew all that was involved, would you still feel the same way?  I so desperately want to be understood.  I want to believe you, but I’m afraid.  I’m afraid I’ll be disappointed.  You’ll never understand me.  I can’t say I’ll ever understand myself, and when one thing comes to make sense to you, I’ll change.  But, I’m not sure you really want to understand me.  I’m not sure you know all that is involved.  Professionals, they’re paid to listen, but you, I feel bad taking your time.  I’ll keep buying you supper because I feel that somehow I need to give back to you.  I need to make every hour we spend together worth it for you, and I can’t believe that you’d find it worthwhile, just hanging out with me.  I love you so much, that’s why I’m so afraid.  I’m afraid that you just put up with me.  I don’t want to annoy you.  I don’t want to force you to listen to me.  I’m selfish.  I love talking about myself, I love being with you, so I’ll try not to talk about myself too much, because I’m afraid I’ll push you away.  I wish this wasn’t all about me, but like I said, I’m selfish.  I’m not sure I have anything to offer you.  Can I buy you lunch?

My Other Abusive Relationship

When I first moved here it was without specific ambition.  I spent the first few months floating around with no certain idea of what I should be doing.  I had met you briefly years ago, and fallen in a childish love.  Since I was not sure what I should be doing, I sought you out, wondering if you’d remember me.  I thought you might be able to help me fulfil my dreams.  For a month I relentlessly pursued you until we finally had the chance to meet face to face.  I was nervous.  I was sure you wouldn’t remember me from our first meeting; I had been just a kid.  I told you what I wanted but you offered me something else.  Desperate, and having no other options, I took it. 

I dearly wanted for thing to work out, but we were not communicating well.  I brought this to your attention and we came up with a solution.  Then things were really good.  I enjoyed my time with you.  You bought me a phone, having paid for my plan ever since, so that we could stay in contact.  We had great conversations.  We laughed together and worked together.  I felt like I was getting things done, and enjoying the process.  But it was like I only knew one side of you and that side left.  You changed and suddenly I felt lonely.  I worked alone, and you didn’t even seem to care what I was doing.  I tried to motivate myself, but I wanted more than anything for you to come alongside of me and tell me I was doing it right.  Even if you had told me I was doing it wrong that would have been better than the silence with which you punished me. 

Then she came along.  I am sure she was quite nice, but I could never overcome my jealousy and befriend her.  She was needy and you looked after her.  She liked Boston Cream doughnuts so you always brought them for her.  She didn’t know much about the transit system, so you bought her a bus pass and showed her around.  You invited her over for supper.  You joked with her and took care of her.  You watched over her every need.  I know I’m fully independent.  I know how to buy my own bus pass, and yet how I longed for you to buy one for me.  How I wished that you would take the time to bring me my favourite food.  I wanted to be thought about.  I longed to be cared for, but I felt neglected, just as neglected as I had before, but now I saw you pouring your energy into her.

Even after she left I was too badly hurt to say anything.  I knew largely that I had been in the wrong and so I couldn’t accuse others.  My jealousy was venom that ate at my soul, not something I was proud of.  It was over a year after she left that I had the guts to mention to you that I felt abandoned.   You never knew where I was, and as far as I could tell, you never cared.  My heart slipped further and further from you.  Occasionally you did things to get my hopes up.  You’d take me on trips, take me out for supper or hand me cash.  At times I’ve felt like I am using you.  You don’t ask me for much, but you give.  Sometimes I wish I had more to give you, or rather, I wish you wanted me more.  I wish you valued me, or even needed me, but you don’t seem to care if I come or go.  I’m not a better person because of our relationship, and I don’t think it will affect you if I leave. 

I keep looking at the door.  I imagine getting off my chair and walking out.  What would it look like if our relationship ended?  How will it change the way people look at me?  Most people, except those who know me well, think our relationship is healthy.  They think I’ve made a godly choice in choosing you.  The people who know me tell me to get out of the relationship.  They see it sucking away my life.  They think I can do better.  The reasons I have to stay are increasingly poor reasons.  I’d have to pay for my own phone bill.  No more free trips.  In the fall, my laptop died.  You gave me a new one.  Would you want it back?  Laptops, a phone, trips; those are no reason to stay in a relationship, but I am not sure I can be independent.

I keep hoping our relationship will mend itself, but I haven’t done much to aide in its healing.  Your apathy towards me causes me to cease caring.  I want out of this relationship.  I am not sure when to leave.  Neither am I sure how to leave.  I don’t want to cut ties completely.  Slowly I’ve distanced myself from you more and more.  I think I’m ready to say goodbye, but something keep holding me here.

The Real Me

“Just bee yourself.”  I think that is from some Disney movie. 

I feel a certain amount of pressure to be myself around people, especially around those who know me.  Society teaches that we should be true to ourselves.  I think the whole of elementary curriculum these days is based around that.  I feel like I keep being told that I should be open with my friends, especially those with whom I am closest.  I had this fear today.  What if the real me isn’t beautiful.  What if no one would like the real me?  The real me is selfish and depressed.  Would anyone want to hang out with such a person?  The real me wants to be the centre of attention.  The real me will talk and talk, and you won’t find her very interesting.  What if the real me is ugly.  The real me is lazy.  The real me is unkind.  The real me is hurting, and quick to hurt others.  The real me wants you around when I want someone around, and wants you to get out of my face when I want to be alone.  The real me wants to curl up in a ball and cry, and if you won’t say a word or ask any questions I might let you come and put your arm around me, or I might get up and run away.  The real me is unpredictable.  What if no one wants to be friends with the real me?  It almost seems wrong to be the real me around other people.  I think it would be unfair to them.  I fear that people wouldn’t know how to respond to the real me.  I don’t know that the world is yet ready for the real me, or maybe the real me is not yet ready for the world.  The real me has some learning, maturing and growing to do.

But I am tired of being fake.

“How are you?”

“Good.”

But I am not good.  My insides are all hurting, but does anyone really care?  Does anyone have time to care?  Maybe first I’ll try to learn to be honest with myself, and then I’ll try to be honest with God.  After that I’ll have to decide if it is worth it to be honest with the world.

The real me is ugly, but the real me is longing for friendship.  The real me is desperate for attention.  The real me yearns for comfort and the real me is tired of hiding.  The thing is that I like having friends.  It is so much easier just to say that I am "good".

I've been kinda sad recently.  I miss my daddy.  I have also been exhausted.  In the midst of my exhaustion I've been longing for comfort.  I want to be comforted.  I have a couple of thoughts about that.  The first one is that I do not know what it would look like for me to receive comfort from someone.  I can think only of two times when I have really received comfort from people.  One was a long hug from a friend after I shared that my dad had died. (I did get a few other good hugs around that time too.) The other was was a hug when I was 14 or 15 and at camp.  I started crying one night as I was in bed and someone heard me and came over and held me and let me cry.  When I was a kid, if I got hurt I'd want to go be alone.  I remember crying into my bed, or into my stuffed toys, but not in the arms or others, and rarely in front of people.
For most of my life I have been looking for attention.  For a long time that was my greatest emotional need.  I think right now that need has shifted.  I want to be comforted.  I don't know what that would look like.  I don't know if I am ready to be sad in front of others, or shed tears or let them know that I need comfort. 
I don't really know what it is to be attracted to someone.  even less do I understand what it is to be turned on by someone.  At camp I found myself somewhat checking people out, but I wasn't really checking them out.  My concern was with one thing, will they comfort me?
When it comes to attention, I've learned that people will always disappoint me.  They cannot be around all the time.  They will not constantly be ready to listen to the stories of my life.  I think I need to learn that just as God can give me all the attention that I need, he too can give me the comfort that I need.  I don't know what it looks like to receive comfort from people.  I certainly don't know what it looks like to receive comfort from God.