Here we are – Part 2 of my Insulin Resistance post. I’m sure this topic will resurface at some point but for now I plan on just talking about the emotional battles I’ve faced with this process. So last week I shared the physical journey of what’s been happening with body. Honestly, I’m so glad I did. It was a scary post to write but I heard from several of you and I’m incredibly hopeful you can find answers.
Here we go. We’re going to jump back to when I was a kid.
I never wondered about my beauty. I never asked if I was pretty. I didn’t wrestle with needing affirmation from the world. My daddy told me I was beautiful and I believed him. Completely. My beauty was safe.
Yet as the world tends to do, it crept in and broken people told me broken lies. My little girl heart was told things it never should have heard and it didn’t understand but those things sounded just enough like truth that I began to believe it. And when my body began to change in ways that didn’t make sense and no one knew how to help me, the lies became less and less distorted and more and more realistic.
Goodness, did they come – from boys, from society, from friends, from adults. They were everywhere. My beauty no longer felt safe. I started asking if I was beautiful. And the answer was no. What I didn’t know was that I was asking the wrong people. The people I never should have let define me. But how do you tell a twelve year old who desperately wants to be seen as lovely that she’s offering her tender heart to broken insecure people?
To make matters more frustrating, my parents would always tell me how their friends would remark on how beautiful I was. Naturally I would roll my eyes and groan. I didn’t give two craps about my parent’s friends. I wanted MY friends to think I was beautiful. I wanted the boy in my youth group to like me back. I wanted to be a pretty girl.
I wanted these things so much but I didn’t get them. I was awkward and tall and struggling with my weight. So I never became a popular girl. I stayed on the outside. When I got to high school, I tried everything I could to figure out how to be pretty. I tried everything to manage my weight. I tried make-up. I tried clothes. I tried hair-cuts. I tried it all. But still, I was passed over.
So I started to use the excuse that if I just lost weight a boy would want me. That I could be lovable. That I was desired. And until I did that, no one would want me. But we know from my previous post that it didn’t happen. I struggled for years with it. It became my security blanket. My tall unscalable wall. My last resort. My comfort in the middle of the night.
I can’t tell you how many times men told me how much more attractive I would be if I lost weight. Or that I had “a pretty face” or I had a great personality. It reinforced my belief that if I lost weight my life would change and I would be worthy of pursuit.
In the last two or so years I settled into who I was – a woman worthy of pursuit. A woman worthy of love. A woman worthy of a man who is crazy about the Lord. Regardless of what I did or didn’t look like on the outside. But I think I always had my wall up… using it in the quiet moments when I was afraid and uncertain. Keeping out the midnight longing and keeping in my dusty heart.
It should come as no surprise that when my body started to change and I noticed that I was turning more into what the world defines as beautiful that I would have an identity crisis. Because what if… what if I lost weight and the world finally told me I was beautiful and still nobody wanted me?
Does it mean I’m unlovable? Does it mean I’m not worthy of pursuit? Does it mean I’m too far gone? This wall didn’t start to be carefully deconstructed by Papa removing brick by brick. My wall of protection, my security, my fortress, had, all of a sudden, been knocked to the ground in an earthquake and I was left standing inside completely exposed. Afraid. Unsure.
So naturally, what do I do? Call Counselor Kevin and rush to see him. Which I’ve done twice in the past week. He took all my pieces, none of them surprising him like they’ve done to me, and laid them all out.
You know what he told me?
That I will never be enough.
I will never be attractive enough or wanted enough or funny enough or cool enough or mysterious enough or anything enough because enough gives someone else the responsibility to define what I measure up to.
It felt like this huge burden rolled off my back and onto the floor. I don’t have to be enough to anyone. Gosh, heart, do you hear that? Do you know the freedom that comes out of that? You don’t have to be enough!
Because enough has conditions and conditional love is not allowing Christ in someone to love me. If someone places conditions on their love for me, it says nothing about who I am, only about how they love.
My beauty will never be enough. And because it will never be enough it means I can rest fully in the unconditional love of Papa through my community because I can’t do anything to make it more or less.
I mean… how amazing is that?!