In my last post, I talked about the image that I saw in myself. I mentioned that throughout H.S. I dated guys because it boosted my self-esteem, but only to have it crushed when I would realized that I still was not good enough to be seen by the ones that I wanted to look at me.
I simply was not made to be beautiful.
After High School graduation, my folks moved on to a new house in a new state, and I was forced to follow. I had never even traveled this far north before and now, everything I had worked for (my reputation, my friends, my hangouts, my job..) it was all taken away. I was starting over again. I was starting fresh. And after the summer was over, I would start college.
If it wasn't soccer, then pool was my game. Not swimming, billiards. I knew that if I could find a pool hall in this town then I could make some new friends (aka. dates to fuel my self-esteem again). I was used to getting guy's attention, in an environment where I was the only female available.
Naturally, I would go in alone. I would scan the room for prospects and then would proceed to start playing a game - solo. It wouldn't take long before I would have a partner for the next game. I looked at them like they were suckers, paying for my games, my drinks, my attention, my FUN...but down deep inside, past my stubborn pride, I knew who the real sucker would be. Because without fail there was always that one guy that I would spot, and immediately I would know that he was much too good for me. Even if he wasn't marriage material, his looks said that he would never even second glance at me. That pool hall in Illinois was the first to break that rule. And I quickly found myself in too deep before I knew it was happening.
The physical attraction was so intense that all my virtues of waiting for marriage, was quickly being forgotten. What would hold me back in the end, was my own insecurities. I was still afraid that something about my body would turn him off of me.
Jesse was one of those special guys. I still have fond memories of him. He was just as confused as I was, but in a whole nother way. Jesse was a self-confessed sex addict. I wasn't really sure what that meant when he told me, but I knew that I must be just another set of legs to him. When I wasn't working the late shift, I would tell my parents that I was, and then sneak off to see Jesse. I was afraid of him, and afraid of me, but I also wanted to indulge and push the limits a little bit. Jesse was what people might call "cut" he had the pretty face to match the muscles too. And I knew by the way he talked, that I was just one of many women that had noticed his beautiful body. That fact left me feeling insecure, even in our flimsy dating relationship that we were in. I wanted more from him. I wanted to be special to him.
Jesse wasn't a Christian. Far from it, in fact. When I told him that I was going to a Christian college, he asked me if I was going to be a nun. (uh...no.) My connection with God was still a very high priority, and although my selfish desires had clouded my good intentions; I still really wanted to share my faith with Jesse. We talked in depth about his search for a higher power. I could tell that he longed for something more to this life. Even with the sheltered view that he had of the world, he knew that without something good, all that's left is the bad. He was searching for God. He told me that he was waiting for a "sign" to believe. Sadly, I had to say good-bye and go to school. Jesse had decided to join the Job Corp. I had hoped that I would be that "sign" he was looking for. Instead, we went our separate ways sad and slightly annoyed with one another because of the faith based coversations.
I was in the middle of my second semester sophomore year, when I got an unexpected letter delivered to me. It was Jesse. He had called my parents house to get my address. I was shocked and very excited to hear from him, especially knowing to what great lengths he went to get in touch with me. "You must have made a lasting impression with me," he said. With every word I read, all I could think of, was he couldn't be talking about me, because I'm nothing special. But then I knew what it was that made him believe that I was. Unfortunately, there's nothing that I could quote from Jesse's letter to would show you what I can see when I read it. But through all the recorded memories and by the way he spoke about our last moments together I can tell, I was special to him. I was special in the same way that music is to a deaf person, or touch to a blind person. I allowed him to feel the one thing that he'd been missing.
I began to slowly piece it all together lately. It was something I had forgotten. Amongst all the diet planning and workout scheduling throughout my year, I had missed the point again. In fact, I drive myself crazy when I try to live up to my standards of beautiful.
I can't make myself beautiful. I can't make myself special to anyone.
But God can.
And when I allow His light to shine through, He does.
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(Fun Fact: I am fascinated by the meanings behind names. I looked up the meaning of "Jesse"- you should try it. Tell me what you find. That is his real name by-the-way.)
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
What do we behold?
I've always wanted to be beautiful.
Everyone does. I know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but the "beholders" that I want to impress have been far more beautiful than what my eyes have seen in my own refection. I assume that they see the same when they look at me. This belief along with my genetic OCD has led me down a relentless path; the pursuit of personal perfection.
It was early on when I started to feel inferior in my physical qualities to other girls my age. In kindergarten, my friends and I role played "Star Wars" on the playground. There was just three of us; John Mark, Jessica, and I. For anyone who knows about the original series will realize that there is only one girl part to choose from. I thought Jessica was beautiful, but she was my friend and I was happy with being friends with her. I absolutely adored John Mark. He was my Mr McDreamy, and I wanted to be as special to him as he was to me. But just looking at him and at our mutual friend Jessica, I knew that would be unlikely. After all, who would ever fall in love with Darth Vader?
Even after I stepped up and stepped out of my so-called "tomboy" phase, so that people would have less reason to be confused about my gender, I still knew that I would always be a mediocre woman at best. At night or when I was alone (which was mostly at night) my OCD would kick in full force and would wreck havoc over my entire body in search of imperfections. To put it simply, I'm a "picker". Every bump, every spot, every rough spot, or speculated problem area on my face and body would need to be smoothed out, because it could not be allowed to be there. I already felt ugly (or uglier that most)and blemishes of any kind would only make that worse. I wanted to do something to change my physical appearance. I wanted to perfect it in every way possible, and "picking" was my only way of handling that kind of hate that I had for my body. It didn't ease my anxiety or frustration, but it gave it an outlet so that I could survive.
When I would get made fun of, or brushed aside by my peers, I always ended up thinking to myself, "What's wrong with me?" Because, I knew the "me" inside wasn't bad. I knew that I loved Jesus, and that nothing made me happier than to help another person. I was smart. I was kind. I had good manners. And I could be funny, if people would just give a chance to smile. If beauty was on the inside, then I should have been all that my Mom had told me I was and more, but it wasn't my Mom's attention that I was longing for.
I dated a lot as a teen, but was never in an ongoing exclusive relationship. I was able to get the attention of several guys. I liked that. It made me feel good about myself. But that good feeling was always short lived, when I realized that the reason they liked me was because no other self respecting girl would give them a second glance. Then I would remember the guys I did like, how untouchable they seemed to me. The "us" would always be just a dream inside my head.
My biggest crush started in junior high. Garret was good looking and everyone could see that. He had the charm and personality to accompany his good looks. But what really made him stand out to me was his knowledge of and pursuit after God. His love for my lord was what made my heart jump when he would look my way. For the whole 7 years that we were around each other, I never had the courage to show him how I felt. In fact, when he would strike up a conversation with me, I would act as if his presence around me meant about as much as deciding what's socks to wear that day. I would do anything not to look foolish or to be publicly embarrassed. I would like to say that Garrett and I were friends, but because of my feelings about myself, I kept my distance from him.
Always my dates would end up trying to pressure me into some kind of sexual action with them, and I enjoyed the attention, but the feeling of attraction was never mutual. By the end of my H.S. years I had concluded, that I dated unattractive guys (both inside and out) because I was unattractive and that's all I could get. That's all that I deserved. I should learn to be content to live within my own physical limitations. Fairness or my own feelings about the matter are irrelevant to the situation. That's just life.
The college years began to prove me wrong.
--------------------------------------------------
second half coming soon
Everyone does. I know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but the "beholders" that I want to impress have been far more beautiful than what my eyes have seen in my own refection. I assume that they see the same when they look at me. This belief along with my genetic OCD has led me down a relentless path; the pursuit of personal perfection.
It was early on when I started to feel inferior in my physical qualities to other girls my age. In kindergarten, my friends and I role played "Star Wars" on the playground. There was just three of us; John Mark, Jessica, and I. For anyone who knows about the original series will realize that there is only one girl part to choose from. I thought Jessica was beautiful, but she was my friend and I was happy with being friends with her. I absolutely adored John Mark. He was my Mr McDreamy, and I wanted to be as special to him as he was to me. But just looking at him and at our mutual friend Jessica, I knew that would be unlikely. After all, who would ever fall in love with Darth Vader?
Even after I stepped up and stepped out of my so-called "tomboy" phase, so that people would have less reason to be confused about my gender, I still knew that I would always be a mediocre woman at best. At night or when I was alone (which was mostly at night) my OCD would kick in full force and would wreck havoc over my entire body in search of imperfections. To put it simply, I'm a "picker". Every bump, every spot, every rough spot, or speculated problem area on my face and body would need to be smoothed out, because it could not be allowed to be there. I already felt ugly (or uglier that most)and blemishes of any kind would only make that worse. I wanted to do something to change my physical appearance. I wanted to perfect it in every way possible, and "picking" was my only way of handling that kind of hate that I had for my body. It didn't ease my anxiety or frustration, but it gave it an outlet so that I could survive.
When I would get made fun of, or brushed aside by my peers, I always ended up thinking to myself, "What's wrong with me?" Because, I knew the "me" inside wasn't bad. I knew that I loved Jesus, and that nothing made me happier than to help another person. I was smart. I was kind. I had good manners. And I could be funny, if people would just give a chance to smile. If beauty was on the inside, then I should have been all that my Mom had told me I was and more, but it wasn't my Mom's attention that I was longing for.
I dated a lot as a teen, but was never in an ongoing exclusive relationship. I was able to get the attention of several guys. I liked that. It made me feel good about myself. But that good feeling was always short lived, when I realized that the reason they liked me was because no other self respecting girl would give them a second glance. Then I would remember the guys I did like, how untouchable they seemed to me. The "us" would always be just a dream inside my head.
My biggest crush started in junior high. Garret was good looking and everyone could see that. He had the charm and personality to accompany his good looks. But what really made him stand out to me was his knowledge of and pursuit after God. His love for my lord was what made my heart jump when he would look my way. For the whole 7 years that we were around each other, I never had the courage to show him how I felt. In fact, when he would strike up a conversation with me, I would act as if his presence around me meant about as much as deciding what's socks to wear that day. I would do anything not to look foolish or to be publicly embarrassed. I would like to say that Garrett and I were friends, but because of my feelings about myself, I kept my distance from him.
Always my dates would end up trying to pressure me into some kind of sexual action with them, and I enjoyed the attention, but the feeling of attraction was never mutual. By the end of my H.S. years I had concluded, that I dated unattractive guys (both inside and out) because I was unattractive and that's all I could get. That's all that I deserved. I should learn to be content to live within my own physical limitations. Fairness or my own feelings about the matter are irrelevant to the situation. That's just life.
The college years began to prove me wrong.
--------------------------------------------------
second half coming soon
Thursday, July 7, 2011
In this moment
Inspiration doesn't tell time. It's almost 4 AM while I type this. My kids have been spending some time away at Grandma's house for swimming lessons, and it has given Drew and I a much needed break to regroup ourselves. I've spent some time watching non-Disney movies, cleaning house (while it can actually stay clean for more than 5 minutes) and other similar activities. But the best use of my time has been spent going on walks or driving a little ways to a quiet spot, to think and pray. Prayer and meditation has a way of putting all our stressers and worries of our past, present, and future, back into perspective.
Realizing, all we have is today.
It seems like such a simple concept, but ironically it took my formerly abusive father's example to open my eyes to it. It was Mother's Day weekend, and the kids and I packed oursleves in the van. We were off to spend time at my parents house just to be there for my mom and make her wish come true. Drew was unable to go with us because of work. I always end up regretting going to see my parents by myself, so I was not looking forward to making this trip alone again. Family always brings out the worst in people, and knowing what I know now concerning the orgin of my addictions and same-sex attraction, only fuels the fire for hostility in me.
I have to put on a face. I have to make my indifference to the past seem real. I must accept the hugs and kisses from the man who actions still haunt me today. There's an obvious injustice that I am forced to ignore, because I want to be respectful of my family.
The weekend went as well as could be expected. We all went to church on Sunday, and afterward met up at my brother's house for lunch. When the meal was over it was time for the kids and I to pack up and say our goodbyes. The trip seemed without any significant incidence. We appeared to be leaving everyone on a high-note for a change. I was thankful for that, but didn't want to waste time waiting for the winds to change before heading home. Then just after I shut my driverside door, my dad came up to talk to me. I began to feel my face and body tense up, not knowing what to expect. Quietly, only audible to me, he said,"Kayt, I just wanted to tell you...I'm very proud of you and the life that you've made with your family. I just wanted... to tell you that." I nodded and forced a smile and subtle quiet "thank you" came out of my mouth. Then we all waved good-bye one last time and I drove away.
I had to make a stop again about a mile away to fill up with gas. When I pulled up next to the pump, I was already fuming about what my dad had said. "Just WHO does he think he is??! What does he think that crap is gonna do?! Does he really expect me to FORGET about all the s*#@ he's put me through?! Like that one little gesture is gonna make everything ok between us! He hasn't changed...NOTHING's changed."
I went inside the station to pay with cash, and the whole time....I had this unexplainable ache in my chest. Some guy followed me out of the building asking me for change, and I gave it to him; which had me calmed down again while I put my seat belt on. As I started to get on the highway, I realized that my poor reaction to my dad's words had made me the bad guy this time.
I like road trips. They give me a lot of time to think. I had three hours to reflect upon my father's words to me. By the time I was getting onto my exit, God had sifted through my pain and bitterness to show me the heart that exists; a heart that can still love and understand.
I realized that my dad came to my door to say those heart felt words all on his own. Nothing prompted him. There was no need for apologies that day; he hadn't done anything wrong. But still, he went out of his way to tell me that my life meant something to him. He was proud of me. He didn't have to tell me how he felt, but he did. And I had spent all this time on the road resenting him for his kindness. I had been looking at the past and considering what might be the future, and forgetting what was happening in the now. He did all that he could in that moment. In that moment, he was the best father I'd ever known.
Believe it or not, I was still reluctant to share this story about my dad doing something right on here. I'm still getting the hang of this "forgiveness" thing. But I am beginning to see that the big picture is in the small things.
I tell my kids to clean up their room once in awhile. Every time I do, you can see it in their faces how overwhelmed they feel by looking at the mess that lies before them. Understanding this same feeling of defeat before the start, I come to their aide with some comforting advice. "Don't look at the whole room. Instead, just pick up one toy at a time, and put it away until there are no more toys to pick up." I know that it's nothing profound to most of us, but to a small child with a messy room, it was relief from a hopeless situation.
I feel that same relief when I look at my recovery and my relationships with others that way. There have been many times where I would want to ask for forgiveness for my sinful thoughts or bad decisions, but felt reluctant to even talk to God, because I knew that my history spoke for itself and my repentance would not last. So what's the point in trying? I was defeated from the start. Those feelings of hopelessness would lead to hating myself, feeling trapped, and suicidal thoughts. I was jealous of those who would speak of their addictions in the past tense, not knowing how I could ever be in that position with the way I am. But my father showed me the way. Just by taking one day at a time saying,"In this moment, I am doing ok. In this moment, I'm doing it right."
Forget about the past. Don't worry about the future. All we have is this moment.
And I can do my best in that.
Realizing, all we have is today.
It seems like such a simple concept, but ironically it took my formerly abusive father's example to open my eyes to it. It was Mother's Day weekend, and the kids and I packed oursleves in the van. We were off to spend time at my parents house just to be there for my mom and make her wish come true. Drew was unable to go with us because of work. I always end up regretting going to see my parents by myself, so I was not looking forward to making this trip alone again. Family always brings out the worst in people, and knowing what I know now concerning the orgin of my addictions and same-sex attraction, only fuels the fire for hostility in me.
I have to put on a face. I have to make my indifference to the past seem real. I must accept the hugs and kisses from the man who actions still haunt me today. There's an obvious injustice that I am forced to ignore, because I want to be respectful of my family.
The weekend went as well as could be expected. We all went to church on Sunday, and afterward met up at my brother's house for lunch. When the meal was over it was time for the kids and I to pack up and say our goodbyes. The trip seemed without any significant incidence. We appeared to be leaving everyone on a high-note for a change. I was thankful for that, but didn't want to waste time waiting for the winds to change before heading home. Then just after I shut my driverside door, my dad came up to talk to me. I began to feel my face and body tense up, not knowing what to expect. Quietly, only audible to me, he said,"Kayt, I just wanted to tell you...I'm very proud of you and the life that you've made with your family. I just wanted... to tell you that." I nodded and forced a smile and subtle quiet "thank you" came out of my mouth. Then we all waved good-bye one last time and I drove away.
I had to make a stop again about a mile away to fill up with gas. When I pulled up next to the pump, I was already fuming about what my dad had said. "Just WHO does he think he is??! What does he think that crap is gonna do?! Does he really expect me to FORGET about all the s*#@ he's put me through?! Like that one little gesture is gonna make everything ok between us! He hasn't changed...NOTHING's changed."
I went inside the station to pay with cash, and the whole time....I had this unexplainable ache in my chest. Some guy followed me out of the building asking me for change, and I gave it to him; which had me calmed down again while I put my seat belt on. As I started to get on the highway, I realized that my poor reaction to my dad's words had made me the bad guy this time.
I like road trips. They give me a lot of time to think. I had three hours to reflect upon my father's words to me. By the time I was getting onto my exit, God had sifted through my pain and bitterness to show me the heart that exists; a heart that can still love and understand.
I realized that my dad came to my door to say those heart felt words all on his own. Nothing prompted him. There was no need for apologies that day; he hadn't done anything wrong. But still, he went out of his way to tell me that my life meant something to him. He was proud of me. He didn't have to tell me how he felt, but he did. And I had spent all this time on the road resenting him for his kindness. I had been looking at the past and considering what might be the future, and forgetting what was happening in the now. He did all that he could in that moment. In that moment, he was the best father I'd ever known.
Believe it or not, I was still reluctant to share this story about my dad doing something right on here. I'm still getting the hang of this "forgiveness" thing. But I am beginning to see that the big picture is in the small things.
I tell my kids to clean up their room once in awhile. Every time I do, you can see it in their faces how overwhelmed they feel by looking at the mess that lies before them. Understanding this same feeling of defeat before the start, I come to their aide with some comforting advice. "Don't look at the whole room. Instead, just pick up one toy at a time, and put it away until there are no more toys to pick up." I know that it's nothing profound to most of us, but to a small child with a messy room, it was relief from a hopeless situation.
I feel that same relief when I look at my recovery and my relationships with others that way. There have been many times where I would want to ask for forgiveness for my sinful thoughts or bad decisions, but felt reluctant to even talk to God, because I knew that my history spoke for itself and my repentance would not last. So what's the point in trying? I was defeated from the start. Those feelings of hopelessness would lead to hating myself, feeling trapped, and suicidal thoughts. I was jealous of those who would speak of their addictions in the past tense, not knowing how I could ever be in that position with the way I am. But my father showed me the way. Just by taking one day at a time saying,"In this moment, I am doing ok. In this moment, I'm doing it right."
Forget about the past. Don't worry about the future. All we have is this moment.
And I can do my best in that.
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