*This post is not meant to be a pity party or anything resembling one. This post is all about me working through this issue openly…it’s time I dealt with it.*
One thing that has been dumbly staring me in the face for a few years is my insecurity. So we’re gonna talk about it! I asked James the other day how he describes me to people (or how he would, given the opportunity) and close to the top of his list was that I’m an insecure person. That kinda sucks, but I’d have to agree…I’m horribly insecure. I don’t mean to be and I don’t want to be, but I am. It affects pretty much every part of me; I’m insecure about what I do with my life, about my looks, about my weight, about my hair, about singing for people, about my clothes, about my artwork, about my sewing, about my humor, about making friends, about talking to people, that I’m not smart enough, that I’m not passionate enough. Heck, I’m even insecure about blogging! This doesn’t mean that every single thought that I have is negative (although there are days where it feels like that could be true), sometimes I’ll paint something and I’ll quite like it but I usually end up sabotaging those thoughts. *side note: I once had someone yell at me for not painting a certain way…ever since then I’ve always told myself that my pictures and paintings are silly nonsense* Maybe you know what I’m talking about, maybe you don’t.
I understand this about myself and can look back and see where a lot of it originates from. My parents marriage ended the night of my grade six graduation (although it took them years to actually get legally divorced). I remember so much about that day but the months that followed were a blur. I entered Jr. High nervous, depressed, in shock and feeling an overwhelming sense of abandonment. It took years to get back on my feet though some things just got pushed farther and farther down. Counselors, therapists, a clinical psychologist, antidepressants, The Cranberries, cargo pants and Doc Martens seemed to do nothing. I carried on with life with an altered demeanor. One good thing that came out of my teenage voyage through self loathing was my creativity. It’s how I was able to cope with anything and everything.
After I graduated my outlook seemed to change drastically. Some things still pushed down, but a lot of my issues I was able to let go of or work through while overseas, away from everything I considered normal. It was easy to “re-invent” myself, (and by re-invent I mean discover a youthfulness and joy that I had left or ignored). I finally let it out, and I felt liberated.
Fast forward a few years. James and I are married with one child and another on the way. He is a youth pastor in a community we love. I’ve invested so much of myself, my talents, my life into the place and people. Then, seemingly all-of-a-sudden everything comes a-crashin’ down. For those of you who know the story (and I mean know it correctly, which is from what I know only a very, very small handful of people who have actually heard the entire story from start to finish from me), obviously know what I’m talking about. For those of you who haven’t the slightest idea of what I’m talk about…think of the biggest pile of poop and then think about the biggest fan you can think of and make the poop hit the fan and then think of the mess and multiply that by 10. There. Anyways, I’m not trying to beat a dead horse with the Niverville thing but the reality is that it affected every part of who I was on such a deep and personal level that even a few years after the fact I am still seeing repercussions in myself.
While I no longer feel angry or bitter (glory be to God for healing that) about the situation I’ve realized that I’ve become more insecure than ever. *side note: I’m not going to alphabetically go through all of the ways my insecurities have grown since the debacle in Niverville, but I will say that the biggest one that I feel is that I’m just not worth having for a friend. The damage from this has been extensive and (I’ll just go out on a limb and say it) it’s almost debilitating for me to talk to new people…especially at church.* I’m sure part of this is because I’ve been stuck at home for 5 or 6 days a week without significant adult interaction for a few years now. I’m left to my thoughts, the good the bad and the sabotaging. I do need to surround myself with more positive things and thinking but some days it’s just so damn hard. I keep thinking (or possibly hoping) that as I grow older I’ll just naturally become more comfortable with who I am. I’ll realize and come to know Bria and I’ll like her, I’ll like what she is and who she is. Somewhere along the way I’ll stop caring about what other people think, what other people wear, what other people do or how they look at me when I’m wearing my favorite turquoise hat. With each passing year I feel like the “Who am I” question goes largely unanswered, though not for lack of trying, and I start the next year vowing to figure me out. I’m tired of Bria being an insecure person and I think the conclusion (right or wrong) that I come to 99% of the time is that if I can just understand who I am at the very core (other than the sunday school “you are a child of God” answer) then I won’t be insecure anymore.
To be continued when I can gather more of my thoughts….