In high school, I was tired. I had emotionally stretched myself so much that my rubber band life seemed to snap a sigh of relief as I graduated from high school and entered college. I was physically tired, tired of working so hard to maintain and develop relationships, tired of leading other people who seemed willing to follow me until things got hard as if they didn't seem to desire change as much as I did.
But at some point (more like a long process) after graduating and as I entered college, I began to realize that essentially I was tired of living a double life: in many ways the person I was when I interacted with people was not the same person I was when I was by myself. It wasn't a drastic difference, as if I was pulling a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. My outward persona said to the world that I could juggle a multitude of tasks and responsibilities because I was strong; my mentality around others told me that crying, saying "no," or admitting that I couldn't handle it all were signs of weakness. On the other hand, my emotion and perspective of my heart said: I can't possibly do everything; even if I shared my pain with others, there are others who are actually going through worse things than me, so my problems are less important or valid and people are counting on me to encourage them, be "good" and do the right thing all the time; I'm so tired...I'm so, so tired; why doesn't anyone reach out to me or care enough about me to check in with me and see how I'm doing?
God led me through a process around that time that helped me begin to see that I was my own problem. I also realized voices from who knows where (society? the Enemy? culture?) in my head were feeding me lies and I was consuming them like popcorn during a movie. My eyes began to see that I wasn't living a life full of integrity, and the problem wasn't that people didn't care about me. Of course people cared about me. I had just set some unrealistic expectations that they were going to recognize and rescue me from every moment of weakness or pain. I expected those close to me to meet my every need.
I also began to realize that I was not only setting standards that were too high for any human being, but I was actually closing all the doors of opportunities to experience true fellowship that I complained in my head so much about not having.
How was I doing this? By not sharing with others my weaknesses or being vulnerable with others, I was isolating myself from others and not truly loving others.
Unconditional love is risky - it means you're going to put yourself out there for another person, even if that person doesn't love you back or respond the way you want them to. So if I wasn't being honest with sharing my burdens, my fears, my pain, or my struggles with others because I was afraid they would see me differently or not give me the support I needed or dismiss/reject my feelings, then I wasn't really unconditionally loving them. I was prideful for thinking I can/should handle my burdens on my own, prideful for assuming there was no chance they would love me back, and was loving conditionally because my decision to hold back was based on the outcome of the other person's response.
And people can't respond to what they don't know. How could I expect people to love me in the ways I needed/wanted to be loved if I didn't share with them what was going on with me? Did I really just assume everyone could read my mind and my heart and understand my exact state of being through my facial expressions?
I get it - I'd been hurt so many times when I did take the risk to put myself out there and be honest with people, so I know after many tries it's difficult to keep doing it. But I began to make the connection that because I am a daughter of Christ who is so beautifully and wonderfully made, my security, hope, and identity rest in Him and not in other people. He is the reason why we can keep taking those risks and putting ourselves out there. He restores our soul; He heals our wounds; He has already paid the price.
I began to desire to live a life of genuine integrity and simplicity - not just in momentary decisions but as woven throughout my entire lifestyle that promoted these in such a way that who I was with other people (whether they're friends, family, or strangers) would be true to who I am when I was alone. I realized I knew a lot of information and knowledge in my head and told people I believed certain things about life but didn't actually feel them or believe them in my heart. My head and my heart were misaligned.
Obviously at this point I knew my frustration with not being able to change people stemmed from my frustration with not being in control of everything. I also knew that I couldn't force people to change but that I needed to change myself. I needed to submit myself to Christ...every day.
I rehash some of these things as a summary of posts from a long time ago because these were the processes that set the stage for my "carpe diem" disposition. Stay tuned for another post on that.
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