Holiday Grounding 1.0: The Comparison Conundrum

Sometimes I need only to stand wherever I am to be blessed.

-Mary Oliver

I spent Thanksgiving week traveling up the coast of California.  It’d been a while since I carved out some space and time from work to rest, refuel, and get inspired.  Bustling cities and new scenery are food and drink for my constantly grazing right brain.  Beauty feeds my soul and feast I did all the way from the stunning beaches and glamorous people of Malibu to the magical cliffs and redwoods of Big Sur to the charming European-influenced smattering of architecture, shops, and restaurants in Carmel-by-the-sea.

Sacred

I’m still processing the aesthetic overload of cultural flavors, seascapes, energy, color, and well…just beauty.  Beyond grateful, I’m also spiritually rejuvenated.  I always feel closer to God when I travel.  There is a sacred gravity in the vastness of creation. It seems the face of God is nearly visible for me in nature, diverse people groups, and artistic expression.  The ocean speaks to me of this as well, that gorgeous beast of a force.  I’m reminded that love is so big and powerful, the more I open myself up to it, my tiny universe will grow and expand to absorb its Divinity.

Panic

After a much delayed flight back to Nashville and one heavily scented Uber car from the airport, (think Bath and Body Works Warm Vanilla Sugar overkill) all the way home, I hit the pillow and was out fast and deep,  fully satisfied from the week’s wanderings.  I woke up and decided it was the perfect grey coffee shop- kind of morning, so I ventured out for a drive to grab a very late  breakfast at my favorite local joint.  Strangely, I started to  notice this icky panicky feeling rising up in my chest.  About halfway out of the neighborhood my body and brain resounded an unlikely bleating alarm: HELP!

Christmas Vacation

I’ve had my fair share of anxiety before, yet this was completely out of the blue and barking on the heels of a restful week away.  Trying not to judge it, I kept on driving so as to allow it to just come and go.  It kept rising strong.  I looked up in frustration and beheld a very large, very sterile looking house  in front of me resembling a cross between Lord Farquaad’s castle in Shrek and the Griswold’s in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.  I did a full-on 360 head turn in slow motion only to discover each and every house around me completely lit up with blow up Santa’s, candy canes, and trees gloriously dressed in red bows and perfectly spaced white lights.

Too Much

Holy Mother!  The holiday race had begun and I was apparently still stretching (alone) at the starting line.  I was pretty sure we had a few strands of lights tangled up in the basement, and I bought a cute life-sized gold wire reindeer from Home Depot last year that nodded its head and lit up at night but our dog attacked it leaving it a mangled mess.  Who has the time to do all of that decorating, anyway? And the day after thanksgiving?  Apparently everyone!? I felt I’d shown up under-dressed a day late to the ball, and my lovely mother taught me to never dress down.  This festive extravagance was overwhelming.  I’d likely still be climbing out from underneath a week’s worth of laundry until Friday at best with my impending deadlines and catch up from the week away.  I was officially suffering a full-on holiday over-expectation attack.

Space & coffee

Okay, okay, I realize my story may sound ridiculous; first-world problems at best.  I finally drove off, the pity party died down, and I talked myself off the cliff after my second cup of coffee and a large helping of perspective.  Here’s the deal though: the catalyst of this anxiety is relative, however, the cold hard truth underlying is one size fits all and may be worth trying on.  Comparison and short-sighted vision were vying for the precious joy I’d gleaned while away on holiday.  Gratitude flooded my heart just an hour earlier, and in an instant, I was ready to forfeit everything in the name of Clark Griswold. Oh, hell no.

Green

Comparison is ALWAYS and in every form a total waste of time and emotional energy.  Period.  I love the Theodore Roosevelt quote, “Comparison is the thief of joy.”  Nailed it.  For all you Enneagram nerds out there, and further, for all you Enneagram fours (The Romantic/Individualist), comparison to others and resulting envy is a familiar pitfall to be aware of.  As a flaming four, I know this struggle all too well.  There’s this insidious coaxing inner dialog that insists the grass isn’t just greener on the other side, it’s sprouting up pure gold over there and what’s in front of me today is a waste of time.

Gratitude

The quick and failsafe exit strategy out of comparison prison is the ever-ready pathway of gratitude.  Remember the homework assignment from last week? Revisit last week’s post if you need a refresher on gratitude journals and do yourself and loved ones a favor: start one.  The minute I stepped out of gratitude and the boundaries of my truth and intention, I slipped into that old familiar chaos of comparison—NOT a good look.

Zoom Out

Then zoom out like one of those fancy wide-lens movie cameras on wheels you see in the behind the scenes.  (I’m sure there’s a proper name for them.)  I witnessed the power of this kind of perspective with new pristine clarity on my road trip up the coast.  I look back at the pictures I took certain points along the way and sure, they’re pretty.  Yet they’re mere snippets of the grand overture that played in my heart as I witnessed the mix of atmospheric changes, crashing waves, bursts of light, laughter, and conversation weaving it all together.  It was a most enchanting soundtrack; a long, unforgettable kiss of space and time.

I’ll Pass

So friends, this season when the comparison temptress calls and lays on her thick irresistible charm and beckons you to look outside of your truth, tell her you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.  Remind her where you’ve been and where you’re going and kindly inform her who’s in charge here.  Tell her how grateful you are for the unconventional twists and turns, the roadblocks, the free and fast stretches of open highway, and all those detours and gains—they have graciously led you to the place you are now.  Explain this curious notion ofacceptance and abundance: we can actually rejoice with those around us who thrive and succeed because the universe is a beautifully loving place and there is more than enough to go around.  Finally, thank her for her time and efforts: the offer’s attractive, yet you must respectfully decline.  Bid her farewellfor now, you’ve got a story to keep writing.

Let me know how it goes. 

Love,

katie

xoxo

Strong Series Part III: The Persecutor Plummet

That old saying, how you always hurt the one you love, well it works both ways.

-The Narrator ‘Fight Club’

Here we are, back with our third and final role this week: the persecutor.  Quickly, I want to recap our entire journey through the Victim Triangle with a little visualization exercise.  It’s easy and will put some skin around this big dysfunctional yet powerful dynamic we have examined for the past three weeks. Driving not recommended while doing this exercise.

Visualize

Picture if you will an upside down triangle.  The pointy part is at the bottom bolstering the base at the top.  It’s a big V with a lid on it.  At each corner you see a letter.  The top right corner is P, the top left is R, and the bottom corner is V.  You guessed it: the V stands for victim, the R stands for rescuer, and the P stands for persecutor.  In any relationship, two people are likely to jockey between these three roles. Whatever the variation, there is always a “one up” and “one down” position in the triangle. Remember, these are roles we play, not the people we are.

Rhett & Scarlett

We talked last week about the classic Victim-Rescuer dynamic.  Often times relationships start out in this way.  There is a weaker needy partner who feels overwhelmed and incapable and a stronger “good guy” who swoops in for the rescue as this is typically familiar territory for him. He learned damage control early on by being helpful, heroic.  Think Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’hara in Gone with the Wind.  I mean, that iconic picture of him carrying her through the fiery Civil War-torn Atlanta wreckage dials it right in for us.

The Shift

Fast forward two years for this couple: the good guy is tired of being good and a feeling of grumbling resentment grows inside towards his helpless partner as she has gotten very comfortable in her childlike, messy ways.  After all, the victim has it made, never having to take responsibility for her actions and always having her capable rescuer clean up the aftermath of unruly spending, depressive dips and self harm,  or overall numb and helpless behavior.

Now the roles shift and the rescuer scoots into persecutor corner, top right; victim hunkering down to prepare for the hurricane of rage about to ensue.  The persecutor learned early on to control situations by getting tough.  If fearful situations presented, the persecutor pushed back with strength as vulnerability and need were not allowed.

All the Rage

The persecutor gets angry and reacts out of resentment towards the victim, bursting at the seams over something typically really stupid: a perceived tone of voice, clothes left on the bathroom floor, missing previews at the movies due to traffic (I totally get that one), etc…  The persecutor flies off the handle.  In line with our volatile love story, Gone with the Wind, this would be the infamous scene where Scarlett tumbles down the grand staircase of their antebellum mansion and nearly dies during a fight with Rhett based on longstanding resentment in their marriage.  For any of you millennials out there who missed this piece of iconic film history, do yourself a favor!

The Cycle

You ready for this?   When the angry partner is tweaked and acts out (insert behavior of choice: affair, bender, abuse, new Range Rover) with a brick ton of resulting shame, the victim moves into full on rescuer role to console the guilty partner.  BAM!  Persecutor now sits in a puddle of victimhood, with his dynamic partner ready to do the victim-rescuer dance.  

Am I the only one with light bulbs flashing and a steady stream of ah-ha’s going off inside?  This cyclical game is epidemic in relationship.  There are subtle variances as well. Whereas you may not be in a full on abusive lockdown of victim-persecutor, you might drift into the “bad guy” one-up role or the comfortable if not messy chaos of victim by default.  When I first learned about this dynamic and the unnecessary drama contained in this hot mess of a triangle, it put research and language to so many painful experiences in relationships I had been in.  What was once a futile and defeated prophecy now felt like a science experiment! Well, sort of.

The Payoff

Quite simply, the payoffs for the persecutor are:

• A sense of righteousness as they deem the victim “bad”
• A feeling of “good” or “right”
• Avoid taking responsibility for anger and other actions
• Justify irritability, discontentedness, and resentment

Adulting

Let’s give the triangle a rest and imagine two capital “A’s” side by side with a line drawn between them.   The A stands for adult.  This is the visual to keep in mind as we imagine the way out of all this drama.  We have talked a lot about early childhood experiences and relationships that taught us, play by play, exactly how to embody victim, rescuer, and persecutor roles.  They were survival mechanisms for some, soft nuances for others; and, according to the payoff’s,  they really worked!  Well, until they didn’t anymore.

Level Ground

When we challenge these manipulative roles and step into our adult selves, we become proactive instead of reactive as well as responsible instead of blaming.  There is no “one up” and “one down” anymore; the A’s are side by side.  Whereas the persecutor uses strength to communicate control over the victim, he/she can now simply challenge in a loving and open way.  Adults are responsible for what they say and feel.  If I’m adulting, I will communicate to you if something bothers me; I’ll hopefully own it!  If there is something you can do to help, I’ll ask instead of holding a ridiculous expectation that you can read my mind.  It’s not sexy, but it makes relationships run a hell of a lot smoother.

Oh, Hollywood

Rhett Butler stepped outside the triangle in that last scene.  His adult looked like this: “Frankly, my Dear, I don’t give a damn”.  I’m not saying we take relationship advice from Hollywood, (case and point, Brangelina). I am also not encouraging anyone to up and leave with a toothy grin and a packed suitcase in hand.  That would be a premature train wreck.   I am saying, we must learn to step into our adult selves, take responsibility for our thoughts and feelings, and ask for help often along the way.  There is no virtue in the grin and bear it method, unless you like dramatics I suppose.  Relationships are lifelines; they color days in a gorgeous, vibrant green when the winter of isolation and insecurity becomes too cold.  They strengthen us to live our best days and inspire us to our highest self.

What is your story?

Hopefully, this Strong Series can be a reminder for us to fight for those relationships we hold dear as well as a nudge to let go of the toxic ones that no longer serve us.  I’d love to hear your stories of resilience in relationship: how you are showing up or even struggling in current circumstances.  Email me that feedback if you’d like!  In the meantime, Gone with the Wind is a worthy first step. 

Love,

katie

Strong Series Part II: The Righteous Rescuer

I, I will be king
And you, you will be queen
Though nothing will drive them away
We can be heroes, just for one day

-“Heroes” by David Bowie

Just as victim hurts so good like three too many helpings of apple a la mode, rescuer soars on wings of eagles complete with the cape and mask of a superhero.  Ahh, the Righteous Rescuer, a role I have often worn proudly, like a pair of killer Louboutins or something.  This role is a double threat in that it temporarily feels loving on both sides of the table; from where the rescued sits as well as the rescuer.  However, Strong Series part II zeros in on the rest of the story: how this role temporarily flies high, yet falls short…really fast.

The Enneagram Two

If you know me in this life you are most likely familiar with the Enneagram because I’ve been a huge fan, no, evangelist of it for a while.  Clients, friends, family, husband, stranger in the starbucks line alike: I most likely pointed you to the online indicator at my first opportunity in order share its wisdom and selfishly know if I was correct in my personal hunch as to what your number (or type) was.  Yeah, sorry if it was over the top.  I’m working on that.

Why Righteous?

I mention this because I firmly believe the rescuer looks very much like the quintessential Enneagram type Two in its point of stress or disintegration, finding inherent motivation in life rooted in the need to be needed, especially in relationships.  “Help me!” is the mating call of the two and rescuer alike.  A savior is a worthy thing to be after all, yes?  Hmm, look again.  The business of saving people is fragile if not futile work.   Rescuers and victims are like two peas in a pod and in a blissfully ignorant world they make dynamic partners. That is, until one or both wakes up to the truth of their essential selves, using Enneagram rhetoric, and can no longer do that dysfunctional, enabling dance.  What was once a slow and sexy samba now feels like four left feet.

The Look

Rescuers are the folks in your neighborhood with a constant overflow of foster pets oozing out the front yard.  They are the people you call when you need to feel the sugary saccharine of sweet consolation that says, “Honey, it’s not your fault.  I can’t believe she would say that to you” or, “You were the best possible candidate for that job, it will all come back around and bite them in the ass.  Come over; we’ll get toasty and talk smack about the whole situation” when you don’t get the promotion you were hoping for.   Perhaps, instead of rescuing, the gift to give is a listening ear and a tall glass of empathy.

Interestingly, the rescuer needs that heroic role more than the object of her rescuing. It is the dysfunctional umbilical cord sustaining his/her existence.

Early on, the rescuer encountered great helplessness around them, maybe from parents or siblings, hearing a steady drip of “I can’t” that ushered forth those initial glimpses into their powerful and purposeful “I can” destiny.  This is the learned way of connection with others; a cycle that repeats over and over again throughout life even subconsciously.

The Payoff

There are blatant payoffs for the rescuer as you can imagine.  They are perhaps the most glaring of all, seeming helpful at first glance.  Here we go:

• As our title suggests, rescuers get to be “self-righteous” forcing the persecutor into the doghouse.
• Temporary boost in self-esteem, distracting from deep existing pain
• Receive attention for being “right”
• Feel useful
• Get to be the “good guy”

The Way Out

The rescuer has absolutely no awareness of personal needs as identity was gradually built on meeting the needs of others.  Most likely, therapy or recovery starts when he/she finally acknowledges that anger and resentment that’s been stuffed for so long now wreaks havoc on overall health, functioning, and relationships.  Or, a loved one gives the old ultimatum.   Real healing starts when the rescuer a) sets some boundaries and b) becomes aware and accepting of their needs.  The way out for the rescuer is simple yet initially very wobbly: self-rescue.  All of those heroic, well-meaning attempts to save another must now point back to them.  Discovering true identity and voice unlocks a whole new world for the rescuer; one of vibrancy and presence.

We are two-thirds through our Strong Series and I know this stuff can be heavy.  Thanks for hanging in with me.  My hope is that you will use this in your awareness this week as an experiment, observing the possible ruts you may fall into that look like rescuer.  Ask yourself this: What boundaries do I need to have in place to love honestly and fully in this moment? Man, I can think of several in my life right now.  Perhaps I’m not alone.  We will be back next week with a sneak peak into the persecutor.  I know the suspense must be killing you…. 

Love,

katie

xoxo

Strong Series Part I: Victim Pie

I am not what has happened to me.  I am what I choose to become.

-Carl Jung

I am excited to introduce a three-part series this week called the Strong Series.  I snaked the title from my web designer, developer, and good friend Josh Rogers, I wish I had thought of it but I didn’t.  Last week before launching my post Thursday, we were texting and he asked if the Strong Series was going to kick off that week?  Hmmm…I hesitantly answered no, fearing I had forgotten about a brilliant blog series I couldn’t recall.  Well, no was right because I didn’t have a brilliant series, however, the name was just too good so I thought I’d go with it and give Josh credit on the back end.  Josh, this one’s for you.

For the next several weeks,  let’s explore three dangerous roles we fall into in relationships: victim, rescuer, and persecutor.  They are familiar roles for us all, so hang in and don’t blow me off quite yet!  Chances are, you have played all three of them, even when relating to yourself.

If it’s not one thing it’s your mother

Everything in life is relational; that’s why we must explore the trappings and toxicity we fall prey to when we inhabit these three roles.  They are insidiously subtle, making it nearly impossible to detect when we move into and through them.  Why?  Well, chances are we observed others modeling this behavior around us growing up; building them somewhat into our structural, relational DNA.  Look, I’m not blaming it on your mother, I’m merely saying she may not have had the best teacher either and was doing the best she could at the time.   When we understand the cold hard facts behind victim, rescuer, and persecutor, we can easily recognize the payoff involved and bust their chops, making it easy to access a way out of those childlike corners and into our true, brave selves.

Tasty Goodness

So what’s with the “pie” situation?  I thought you’d never ask.  Honestly, victim is perhaps the most easily delicious of them all.  Like pie, playing the victim has a wholesome veneer.  I mean, it’s not straight up Death by Chocolate cake porn or anything.  No way; pie is soft and fruit-filled and we comatose on it at Thanksgiving making it… virtuous.  V is for Victim Pie Virtue…until you simply can’t look at food anymore and feel like you might just vomit.  Wow.  Okay, No more v’s.

The Payoff

It’s tricky and downright painful to sit in the victim seat.  After all, legitimate hurt and/or harm have landed us squarely into this role and it feels horrible, powerless.  Yet oftentimes we stay in victim far longer than necessary.  When I sit in the victim chair, it feels throne-like initially but only leads to isolation, loneliness, and fear.  There is always a payoff to this destructive spiraling behavior, otherwise our wise adult-governed self would remain in the driver’s seat, NOT our reactive monkey brain.  Here are a few payoffs of the victim role:

• Avoiding responsibility (“it’s not my fault” or “look what they did to me”)
• Getting attention
• Collecting sympathy (Poor, pitiful me…)
• Getting to be “right” (in order to justify a resentment)
• Proving myself to be “wrong” (in order to justify low self worth)

The Way Out

The minute that comfy victim Lazy Boy starts to feel dusty and dirty, smelling like one or more of those old payoffs, I invite you to ask yourself one simple question: What is my part in this?  At the core of that victim mentality is a need attached to a wound, a need that I must tend to.  If I’ve had a misunderstanding with someone and feel betrayal or judgement, my need is self-compassion and perhaps an honest conversation for clarification and resolve.  I must own my part in making that happen instead of having a pity party in the fetal position on my bedroom floor like a petulant child.  When we own our part, we create a new, powerful way forward.  We now assume the role of creator in our experience, cashing in the small but familiar payoff we grew accustomed to receiving.  This shift of responsibility is incredibly simple, yet super attractive and life-giving in relationships. That is, unless you forward them this post instructing them to read it because it might be “helpful”.  Oh boy, then you may need to stay tuned for Part III: The Persecutor… 

Love,

katie

xoxo

p.s. In honor of today’s tasty topic, I leave you with Ms. Patty Griffin’s Making Pies.  Enjoy!

Beautiful Lies: Sexual Abuse & Body Image

The Backdrop

One of my absolute favorite things about my work is getting to witness and hold space for clients’ awe-inspiring stories. It has forever changed the way I see strangers walking down the sidewalk, buying groceries, or getting coffee in the Starbucks line. Now, I like to see those people as walking miracles carrying remarkable stories, oftentimes stories that are overlooked or brushed aside.

Today’s story is a perfect example brought to you by one of the most courageous people I have ever met, Suzanna Hendricks. Suzanna is an Event Producer who was on staff close to 3 years with non-profit organization Invisible Children. She moved to Nashville to build an event production and experience design team for the common good called KAIO. in 2014 and recently relocated to Austin, TX to join the staff of the IF:Gathering team as the Development Manager.
As you can see, Suzanna does really cool stuff to effect change in our culture. Yet her greatest weapon is an unbelievably kind and generous heart coupled with a boldness to champion justice, truth, and love in every room she enters. Yep, she’s a badass.

She graciously offered to share her story today in order to shed light and hope on the stories that you might share: stories of sexual abuse, shame, and a resulting shattered body image. Shame is loudest in isolated and dark places. Today, my prayer is that Suzanna’s vulnerability and courage will start a conversation for those of us who feel trapped, silenced, and powerless in our stories of shame.  Let’s dive in.

A Lost Identity

A piece of my identity has always been rooted in shame for as long as I can remember. As people we all struggle with aspects of our identity. Yet as women, I believe we can walk through the world with an acute different standard and deep hidden pain. I’ve learned in this past decade of life that its when we expose to the light things either caused by or perpetrated in the dark, we are set free.

The women of my family are stunningly beautiful.  Beauty that both stills and draws people to them; a kind of rare magic filled with adventure and powerful energy. But our legacy read storylines of abuse, assault, rejection, abandonment, and my greatest one, shame.

Glimpses of Truth

As beautiful as my family is and as often as I have graciously been complimented for similar beauty, the truth is I never saw myself equally lovely.
Who me?

My first memory of being told I was beautiful was at age 14. It was artist Toby Mac who kindly looked at me in a receiving line post show and said, “God wants you to know that you are very beautiful.” I walked out of that building and my heart exploded with all sorts of joy. Beautiful! Me? Wow!

Thinking back after years of healing I wonder why I was 14 before my first memory of being told I was lovely or beautiful.

That truth about myself didn’t last very long. The greater narrative was that I was a victim of sexual abuse and a youth in painful transition with an absent father and younger siblings who were incredibly beautiful. They were called “Princesses” growing up; I was referred to as “Pumpkin”.
I don’t know the exact moment I lost a sense my identity of worth or equality, but go missing it did.

Body Shame

Ingrained in the expectation of perfection and stemming from both sides of my family, thin equals beautiful not healthy. Numbers on a scale were of the highest importance and beginning intros to most “hellos” during family time. It’s that type of narrative and mindset that leads many to eating disorders and self harm for not “measuring up”. I also grew up learning that our outward appearance if tended to well would draw in the attention of men, something to strive for: that feeling of being seen and adored.

Growing up I was always fuller figured. I hit puberty early, inheriting many noticeable family traits of my beautiful aunts on my fathers side, (aka a large chest). I quickly began feeling the unwanted attention of young and old men, immediately becoming uncomfortable with my body.

Those feelings of body shame were perpetuated deeply by own abuse, and later learning of nearly a decade of sexual abuse inflicted on my older sister by our father. There were other tales of violation: women close to me who were abused and stripped of power. Matched with the thoughtful concern of others as to my weight and opinions on what I should or should not be doing, my worthiness and feelings of shame eroded any truthfulness of my own value or beauty.

Reverse Psychology

I saw how beauty could cause both great celebration and harm so I subconsciously took an alternate route than most with those same emotions. Instead of working hard to meet the cultural and familial standard, I shut down the possibility of being harmed, or at least tried like hell to protect myself by decreasing my physical activity paying little attention to what I ate. Concurrently, I began to feel rather sickly but ignored it assuming I was being punished for my apathy. The scale rose and my self worth plummeted.

All along the way in my early 20’s, no one ever asked if something was wrong or if I was depressed or ok. I don’t blame them, we’re conditioned to think that weight is a result of apathy, or laziness instead of digging around for potential pain below the surface. In defiance to the judgement, I’d drink the coke or added extra sugar to my coffee, subconsciously furthering my deteriorating health. Every time my weight was talked about or suggestions were made to “fix the problem”, a part of me died.
In hindsight, I think it was the only thing I felt in control of. Shame has low blows, and its onslaught of internal warring was constant.

Shame says
See, you’re not beautiful enough as your are.
They don’t mean it when they tell you that you’re beautiful.
That person is only attracted to you because of your personality
No one is ever going to want you this way, but at least they can’t hurt you.
You’re not in shape enough to take that adventure, or do that hike, or keep dancing.
If they aren’t attracted to you, Suzanna, they won’t hurt you. You’ll never be what they expect, why try?

Does your heart hurt reading those lines? Mine does too. Because those lies trapped me for so very long.

To stay safe, I let myself go. I let the feeling of failure become king.

Hustling for Acceptance

But, I found that if I loved people well, poured myself out in service or kindness, smiled brightly, and applied the makeup expertly, I was accepted regardless. So, early on I took that knowledge and worked myself into an exhausted sick mess. By my mid-twenties I barely recognized myself: overweight, puffy face/eyes, fatigued, depressed and so much more. It got so bad I could barely get out of bed to drag my sick body to the doctor. When I did, I learned that for close to 5+ years I’d been struggling with Hypothyroidism and had critically low levels on all fronts combined with other intense damage.

Light Shines Through

Within a few months of steady medication – I began to come back to life. It’s been nearly three years since that diagnosis and a long road of self evaluation and healing.

I’ve lived most of my life hiding from the potential that I actually was a beautiful woman; that I could be wanted. Because the lie whispered to me early on was that if I was wanted, or desired, that opened me up to a high chance of pain and abuse.

I learned to compensate by increasing my charm or finding ways to “wear my weight well”; trying to blend in.

Too Unsafe to Succeed

Looking back, it’s really astounding in the all of years of side look stares, comments, and judgements no one ever asked why?  They assumed it was because I didn’t care or that something was wrong with me, but the truth was I cared so much that I wouldn’t fight for it. Because at the root I felt rejected and unsafe; and there was no way in hell I was going to perpetuate that. The hardest truth of it all is that I did perpetuate it, but in a quite opposite sort of way.

I can’t even tell you how many times over the years I have walked into a room and looked for the best way to make sure I appeared to “fit in”. The best angle of a chair, or path of least resistance to a crowd, not sitting in between very slim people or obsessively checking my clothes to make sure I was “put together”. When I would catch someone’s judgmental stare I’d smile sweetly back, challenging them to judge me. It wasn’t until they’d turn their head that my eyes would lower and I’d let the pain flood my heart.

The Journey Out of Lies

The past five years have been a journey of emotional and spiritual healing, and now its time to reclaim the physical part of me. To find strength and health beyond what I’ve ever experienced. I am not putting pressure on myself through this season, but challenging myself to be braver, authentic, and honest.

We all have our battles; the lies that prevent us from living in freedom. This has been mine. This road may take awhile; the important ones usually do. Yet as you find the courage to start facing the giants and slay them with the truth of who you really are, you encounter new ones, but also a strength you didn’t know was there.

Power in Numbers

I am thankful for the amazing people that surrounded me in this season. They have spoken my worth, beauty, and strength over me, lifting me with their words to greater places of wholeness more than they could ever know.

If I’ve learned anything these last years as I’ve worked through a mountain of pain and depression is that having people and God in your court are game changing. I no longer accept judgement as fair or deserved treatment, or take words, even well intended ones, as truth if they cause harm.

It looks a hell of a lot of self compassion, and hard work.

So, to any of you who have been stripped of your true identity through sexual abuse and all it’s aftermath: reach out for support, keep being true and mindful of how you feel, be gracious to yourself, work hard at your wholeness, and treat yourself as you would your best friend.  Know that you are beautiful.
——————
If you or a loved one is currently suffering from abuse of any kind, please reach out. You can do that completely confidentially here. You are not alone.

Love,

katie

xoxo