Bloomers. An Ugly Duckling Story

My husband pointed above our heads as we walked outside. Somehow, when I wasn't noticing, our pink dogwood tree had filled our front yard with the cheerful promise of spring. It seemed that, just yesterday, it was nothing but empty, brown branches. Being busy with everyday life and walking with my head down in a gloomy fog, I had failed to notice that winter had departed and the cure for my cabin fever had arrived at last. As a matter of fact, many other beautiful colors had been sneaking into the local landscape as well. If I had not looked around at reality, I might still be walking with my head down, sulking in winter misery, while spring passed by.

For reasons I won't get into, I pulled out my yearbooks the other evening and looked at my photos. And then I started to cry. Of course, I did attend high school in the 80's...

This was supposed to make me feel better about myself. I was planning to post those pics on Facebook, with the caption "in high school I always thought I was ugly, but that girl is not ugly." I did not get the reassurance I was looking for. As a matter of fact, one of the pictures was partially obscured by a big "X" over it and a mean word. Who would do that in someone's yearbook? Of course, there is a distinct possibility that it was me.

Yeah, I wasn't one of the "beautiful people." I had zero confidence in myself. I had terrible hair that did not respond well to all the perms, feathering, and teasing required for 80's popularity. I didn't stand up straight because I was too tall and too thin. I had actually been called Olive Oyl more than a few times, which was horribly inaccurate because she had straight hair.

I hid behind my friends. They probably never knew that I secretly thought they were better than me. Prettier. More popular. More fun to be around.

I had bullies.

Looking at those pictures took me back in a powerful way. I was flooded with the same feelings of inadequacy and longing that I had then, even though I am different now. Different on the outside, thankfully, but also different on the inside. I'm more comfortable with who I am. I don't hide anymore.

To be honest, once in a while I still feel the need to compare myself to the beautiful people. After the yearbook fiasco, I confided in someone who knew me then. Someone ten years younger than me, who did not know what ugly duckling I was talking about. Someone who assured me that, during those awkward years of feeling like I didn't measure up, she was looking up to me, thinking I was "the coolest, most beautiful teenager."

She is so much smarter than me. :-)

If I Were God

Trees were down everywhere. Some were uprooted completely, their massive roots leaving gaping holes in the earth. Some were snapped in two from the unbridled fury of winds the night before. The trees that were spared had been stripped of their leaves and some of their branches. The trails I had become accustomed to were littered with new obstacles. The air was silent - no squirrels or birds chittering from above, no rustling of leaves from small rodents on the ground. It was the eerie aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. Though destructive and powerful, the storm was not fueled by anger or vengeance. It did not have a vendetta against these trails and the wildlife that lives there. Nature has no malice or evil intent. Not like humans.

I've been asking some tough questions about God lately, most of them beginning with why? Why does He let evil prevail? Why doesn't He protect His children from harm? Why doesn't He seem to answer prayer? Why is He silent? Why does He stand by while people mock Him? And the biggest one: Does He really care?

Those questions continue to go unanswered, but in asking them, I have come to the conclusion that my issue is not necessarily disappointment with God, but disappointment with people. Think about it...

The reason I became frustrated with church was because of people.

The evildoers and mockers - people.

The unanswered prayers? If I'm honest, many of them come back to people. Lord, change their heart.

If I were God, I would probably do things differently. If someone mocked me, I would strike them down with lightening. If someone threatened the people I love, I would turn their evil upon themselves. My responses to evil would be very theatrical, like the superheroes in movies who get the audience cheering and laughing when they take down the villains. Wouldn't anybody do that?

If I were God, I would not have infinite patience to wait and let things run their course, knowing the end from the beginning and seeing the good in the face of the bad and knowing how my power not only can defeat evil but has defeated it. But then maybe I would, because I would be God and only God can do that.

Only God can still care about us when we don't deserve it. Only God gives us infinite chances to find Him and the redemption only He can give. Only God can love the unlovable.

Mere humans aren't that pure. We all fail. We all disappoint. So maybe I walk into church and someone makes me feel unwelcome. That is not a reflection of me or my value. It is a reflection of their human inadequacies.

Maybe someone says or does something cruel to me in anger. That is not a reflection of my worth, but of their own struggle for control, or even self-control.

Maybe my struggles contribute to someone else's disappointment in me.

We are all on a journey. We all have struggles and we all have sins. I need to learn to let other people be who they are, to not take things personally, to continue being who I am no matter what storms are raging around me. And I need to remember that God cares enough to be patient with me.

Muddy Banks

Sean climbed onto the bank to explore while I waited in the raft. The moment he stood up, his feet slipped out from under him and he landed on the muddy bank, sliding back down into the water. I watched him struggle to get his footing until he was able to pull himself back onto land. Keeping a watchful eye on him as he explored, I drifted close to shore in the raft, listening to the rippling of the water and the rest of the family playing downstream. It was just a day at the creek with the family. Just a day of catching crayfish and splashing and exploring. Just a day of making memories...

Quite often when I think of my family, I feel like it's us against the world. My oldest just reached his seventeenth birthday and I am starting to realize these days are numbered. Soon he will be an adult and will set out to make new memories with his own family. Of course, I'll want to share in those memories also - how fun it will be to take a multi-generational camping trip and tell stories to my grandchildren about when their daddy was little and used to call chicken nuggets "nummy guggies"...

I'm getting ahead of myself...

When I was growing up we had Christmas Eve at my Aunt Patricia's house every year. It was a fun time. My mom was one of six kids and all who were able would attend with their families. I would play with my cousins, my mom and aunts would sit around the dining room table playing board games or card games or word games - and get quite boisterous - while the men would stand in the kitchen or sit in the living room chatting about whatever men talk about.  I remember little details: mini cherry cheesecakes, punch with sherbet in it, my uncle Billy pretending not to like kids but not really fooling us some of us...

My niece and I have talked many times recently about those Christmas Eves and discussed our mutual wish that we could bring everyone back together and just do it again. One little visit to the place of our fondest memories - the center of a large, fun-loving family.

A few weeks ago I traveled to South Carolina to be with my relatives for a different kind of reunion. We were there to mourn the tragic loss of my cousin Vickie. It was a sad time and not at all the kind of family reunion my niece and I had talked about.

I realized while I was there that I had not seen most of this family since my dad passed away 16 years ago. Part of my visit was a complete immersion in memories and a sense of belonging that I had forgotten about. The other part of the visit was an odd outsider feeling, as though I was a spectator in someone else's life. Same experience as my last South Carolina trip, I suppose, but stronger. Even though I can't return to them, it was nice to be reminded of those special memories that were made as I was growing up. Those memories that were "just another day" back when they were being made...

Spring Fashion

The path was a little wider than I like, floored with gravel and populated by runners, bikers, dog-walkers, and hand-holding lovebirds. Still, it was a glorious day and a treat to be able to surround myself with lush trees and a brilliant array of spring flowers that lined the path. At a particular bridge, I stopped to admire the rugged beauty of the stream that fed the Delaware River below. The rocks and soothing sounds of flowing water drew me in and I climbed down the bank to play. Now that spring had arrived and put on its colorful attire, I felt my mood lifting - the darkness dissipating in the sunshine.

I'm a self-proclaimed jeans-and-t-shirt girl. Dressing up, to me, is taking my hair out of the ponytail and putting on earrings. For some reason, a few weeks ago, I had it in my head that I wanted a summer dress, even though I was pretty sure I'd never wear it. I set out on my mission - alone, which is never advised for a person like me. Thanks to the invention of cell phones and photo-messaging, I was able to seek counsel on a few dresses I liked, right from the dressing room. I came home with two dresses that day.

I actually wore one of them later that week - to work, of all places, and felt really good all day. That is saying a lot considering the frame of mind I've been in lately.

I'm still battling some kind of depression. Feelings of worthlessness, paranoia, helplessness... I have an idea where it's coming from, but it's too personal to share. Some things just have to stay on the inside.

Yesterday morning I decided to adopt the mantra of some of my ddip friends, "fake it till you make it". I am so tired of sulking and pouting and bringing down everyone around me. My first step was to send a super-cheerful text to a friend - something she was not used to from me. I wasn't feeling it, but I was determined to act it out anyway. Then I got some exercise, cleaned the basement, and dressed up nice for work.

When I started acting happy, I actually started to fool myself a little. I was starting to feel happy after a while. Today started out a little more positive and I wanted to keep it going. My friend from yesterday commented that it was the second day in a row that I was chipper. This was a wake-up call to me. I had been so mopey that a good mood seemed out of the ordinary. For me - the person my boss describes as someone who "brings sunshine to work."

What happened to me?

So, it worked this time, and it makes me wonder. Can you just "put on" a positive attitude like you can put on a dress? Or like the spring puts on it's vibrant colors?

Silence

The trees did little to block the outside world and offer the quiet I desperately needed. Even when there was no one passing by on the nearby trails, I could still hear the whoosh of the cars and the steady hum of whatever machinery was responsible for construction in the park that day. I stood on the bridge, leaning over the rail to peer into the shallow water below. I willed the trickling sound of the water to drown out the world but it did not comply. I was every bit as alone as I felt, wishing for silence and feeling empty in every way.

I have been working on it for a while but somewhere along the way I slipped back into my people-pleasing mentality. Being so afraid of disappointing people, I have stopped speaking up and saying what I want - clearly and confidently.

Instead, I sit and wait and, when people don't say what I want them to, I silently begin to resent them. I give in to feelings of worthlessness and self-doubt and close myself off.

The question has come to me frequently in the last few weeks. Are you okay?

No. I'm not.

I want you to know what I want, care what I want, and tell me what I want to hear. I want it to be believable, which will be a challenge because I am dealing with trust issues too. I don't believe anything.

Pathetic right? I wouldn't want to talk to me either. How do I get my confidence back?

I'm going to take it back. That's what I'm going to do. I became confident before by setting goals and working toward them. I got confidence from proving to myself that I can do more than I think I can do. I didn't get confidence from people flattering me or reading my mind or seeking me out. I was too busy conquering fears and goals to need that.

Chameleon or Newt

I walked with the girls through the woods on the cool, damp, early-spring day. I shook my head, thinking there was not a chance we'd ever see any wildlife with all their giggling and talking. One girl proved me wrong by spotting a bright orange newt on the brown, fallen leaves. On such an overcast day with no greenery or summer colors, the orange seemed oddly out of place. This animal was not hiding or blending in with its environment like a chameleon, but daring to stand out and be itself, regardless of the consequence of being discovered. Had I thought of it at the time, I might have used this as an object lesson for those Brownies - a lesson on being yourself.

Time and time again in my life, I have found myself so eager to fit in and be part of something that I let some of who I truly am fall by the wayside - even at my age. That has never served me well. It has often left me sitting on the sidelines, wondering what I did wrong, when I've been left out of something. Maybe I really wasn't fooling anyone. Maybe, even though I tried so hard, I was the only one being fooled by the effort.

It is an empowering feeling to realize that you are happy being yourself and that you don't need to fit into someone else's category. Even if you march to the beat of a different drum, there are those out there who will accept you right where you are. And if you wait long enough, you may even discover there are others in the world who hear the same beat.

I am not like everyone else. Most girls like to go to the mall and have their nails done and wear high heels and collect designer handbags. That's not me. I'd rather go in the woods and get my hands dirty and wear hiking boots and collect heart-shaped rocks and nature memories.

There is no need for me to be a chameleon. I'd rather be a newt.

Precious Cargo

The Warrior Dash was not my best mud run. I skipped two obstacles because of my paralyzing fear of heights, got disoriented, and ended up alone for the majority of the distance, separated from a caravan of friends who were there on the course - somewhere. Finally reunited with one of these friends, I attempted to climb an obstacle - a cargo net. It wasn't terribly high, but to me, it was terrifying. I relied heavily on KC's words of encouragement to get over it, fighting the urge to backtrack and go around. I managed to conquer the obstacle, but not the fear...

The first time I tried to climb the cargo net at the gym, I only got halfway up. I hugged the ropes the entire time and moved very slowly. When I got back on the ground I was shaking uncontrollably. I felt silly celebrating my victory because it seemed like a small one and I wasn't sure if M&M, who was holding it steady for me, truly understood the intensity of my fear.

The first time I reached the top, I paused, afraid to go back down but at the same time very eager to get to the ground. It was an amazing feeling to know I had done it, but, just because I overcame the fear that day, it did not mean I had conquered it. It's been six weeks since I first decided to climb that net, and I kept climbing before every class.

In week three, I was almost to the top, which had started to get easier for me. I caught sight of Drill across the room on the second floor/balcony area of the gym. I froze. I clung to the rope for dear life. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't climb up - or down. It was a new perspective for me of how high I was climbing. On the net it made me realize how far I had to fall - I was eye level with the second floor!

Once I had my feet back on the ground, it made me realize how far I had come. Scary as it was, I tried again the next class, clinging to the rope with my arms, my legs, and my will.

In week four, I noticed the bruises on the back of my arms. Bruises from bracing myself on the ropes with my arms while gripping tightly with my hands. Nice big, fat, fear-shaped bruises that looked like someone had been shaking me senseless. Bruises from not trusting myself, not trusting my strength, and not trusting my abilities. I kept climbing.

Monday, my husband was there for visitor's week and I wanted to show him what I could do. I proudly did my slow-and-steady, full-body climb to the top and careful, clingy descent to the ground. Then he decided to climb.

He scaled that rope like it was nothing, reached the top, then took it farther than I would ever dare. He leaned over the top, reached his hands down the other side, and flipped forward! M&M and I gasped as we watched him lose his grip and fall all the way to the mat. We looked at each other in shock for a brief second until that man of mine jumped up and exclaimed, "that was AWESOME!"

Wednesday I begged my husband not to do that stunt again. Then I climbed, faster than I ever had before. He and I were both impressed. There was less clinging and hugging the ropes and more hands and feet climbing. It became clear that his fall was actually good for me. If I fell, the mat would catch me. If I fell, I could get back up again. Unintentionally, my husband took away the last of my fear of that net.

I know that because today, there was not a second of clinging or a second of hesitation. My hands and feet did all the work, both climbing up and climbing down. In six weeks, I faced my fear of heights, stared it down, and emerged victorious!