Yes, about Barbie . . .

Jul 30, 2023 | Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

. . . and internalized patriarchy and hope.

One of the many problems with patriarchy is that we often cannot see it, identify it, or recognize we’re swimming (if not drowning) in it. It’s everywhere and illusive, blatant and internalized, excruciating and numbing. Even for all our awareness of patriarchy’s harm, we find it almost impossible to imagine anything else, let alone dismantle it. Carol Gilligan and Naomi Snider speak powerfully to this in their book, Why Does Patriarchy Persist?:

Even as we have developed conscious attitudes of equality, there is a much larger context of unconscious ideas of what women should be that hovers like a ghost, making the transformation to mutuality between masculine and feminine subjectivities much harder than we think it should be.

This is why the Barbie movie is so important . . . and so popular. The “ghost” is exorcised and we are handed, on a very pink platter, a vision of exactly what life without patriarchy looks like. In Barbieland, women run everything, own everything, make every decision, and never apologize for or downplay their intelligence and capacity and strength. They choose themselves at every turn. They are not lacking in anything. They have no sense of not being enough. They do not ever consider themselves too much. And every night is girls’ night. More than *just* something we dreamily imagine, this is a world worth all our effort, all our passion, all our hope.

To move from imagination to reality, from the slickness of film to the grit of our day-to-day, we can take the very same descriptors of Barbie’s world to become increasingly conscious of the ways in which patriarchy impacts our own:

  • Do I feel wholly in charge of my own life, my day-to-day, my reality?
  • Do I have complete and more-than-sufficient financial agency, power, and freedom?
  • Is any and every decision I make defined by my autonomy as well as the full acceptance of others?
  • Do I refuse to apologize and/or downplay my intelligence, capacity, and strength just so others (namely men) are more accepting of me?
  • Do I choose myself—always and no matter what?
  • Do I have everything that men (and people with power) have in ample and assumed supply?
  • Do I always know, with unswerving certainty, that I am enough?
  • Do I always know and fully believe that I cannot possibly be too much?
  • Is “girl’s night” (or any intentionally chosen time for self and/or with other women) a given . . . without the slightest tinge of guilt?

The answers to nearly every one of these questions—for me, and I’m guessing you, as well—are a pretty consistent “No.” Yes, it’s a sliding scale, but still. . . . I hear the voice within that is desperate to rationalize my responses, that wants me to “keep things in perspective,” and that stubbornly says “No, but . . . “

This IS internalized patriarchy, alive and kicking within me—and I’m guessing you, as well. The necessity to maintain the equilibrium at nearly any cost, the desire to honor self but not at the expense of relationship, the deeply-familiar experience of feeling torn; damned if I do and damned if I don’t—no matter what the issue or argument or choice may be. This IS the bind: rejecting patriarchy philosophically, politically, in every way AND simultaneously being caught in its web.

This is exactly what America Ferrera, as Gloria, speaks to in the film’s epic and now much-repeated monologue:

It is literally impossible to be a woman. You are so beautiful, and so smart, and it kills me that you don’t think you’re good enough. Like, we have to always be extraordinary, but somehow we’re always doing it wrong.

You have to be thin, but not too thin. And you can never say you want to be thin. You have to say you want to be healthy, but also you have to be thin. You have to have money, but you can’t ask for money because that’s crass. You have to be a boss, but you can’t be mean. You have to lead, but you can’t squash other people’s ideas. You’re supposed to love being a mother, but don’t talk about your kids all the damn time. You have to be a career woman but also always be looking out for other people. You have to answer for men’s bad behavior, which is insane, but if you point that out, you’re accused of complaining. You’re supposed to stay pretty for men, but not so pretty that you tempt them too much or that you threaten other women because you’re supposed to be a part of the sisterhood.

But always stand out and always be grateful. But never forget that the system is rigged. So find a way to acknowledge that but also always be grateful. You have to never get old, never be rude, never show off, never be selfish, never fall down, never fail, never show fear, never get out of line.

It’s too hard! It’s too contradictory and nobody gives you a medal or says thank you! And it turns out in fact that not only are you doing everything wrong, but also everything is your fault.

I’m just so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie herself into knots so that people will like us.

It is exhausting, to be sure.1 We know every one of these paradoxes, aches, and demands. And yet . . . we push through, rise above, persist, and persevere. Why? Why do we allow this struggle to continue? Why don’t we REFUSE patriarchy, at least as it is up to us? Why don’t we put an end to any and all of the ways in which we compromise and comply? Why don’t we stop enabling it’s insidious presence and power?

There are lots of reasons, of course. Chief among them is the painful truth that patriarchy is sometimes-if-not-often to our benefit (especially if we are white).2 Gilligan and Snider’s research claims that patriarchy “protect[s] us from emotions and knowledge that have come to feel dangerous or unbearable, [which is] in part, why we continue to embrace it . . . “ In too many ways, especially for those of us with privilege, it can be far easier (mentally, emotionally, literally) to not be in charge of our own life, not have to attain financial agency, not need to make autonomous decisions, not choose ourselves, not believe we are enough, and not do anything that might be perceived as too much.

(Believe me, I’m not a fan of naming this AND I would be out of integrity if I failed to admit the times I’ve defaulted to any number of these beliefs and behaviors instead of stepping up and advocating for myself, not to mention others.)

Complicating things further is that we don’t live in Barbieland. We can’t simply deprogram every woman on the planet and be surrounded by men who are grateful to live in a world where they don’t have to be in charge. Nor do we find ourselves in a story that can be satisfactorily resolved in just over ninety minutes. Real life is far more complicated and yes, to Gloria’s point, “literally impossible” much of the time. But if the Barbie movie teaches us anything, it is that we are more than capable (and deserving) of dismantling patriarchy within ourselves and our world. “And that is an encouraging thought.”3

So, how do we start/continue/persevere?4

We begin by telling ourselves the truth, by acknowledging patriarchy’s certain-and-inbred presence within; the way it impacts us and the way our complicity (even if unintentional) impacts others. We bypass the immediate rush of fear or anxiety that overtakes us every time we consider stepping outside the lines and step outside the lines anyway. We say what we mean, what we think, what we feel without holding back. We accept the credit that’s due, the praise we deserve (and amply, generously, extend it to others). We remember, believe, and assert that we are more than enough and never too much. We heal our own wounds and our own stories, then rewrite them. We do the same for the stories of the matrilineage from which we descend. We dedicate ourselves to constant learning about patriarchy, its presence, its tactics, so we are equipped to do, feel, believe, and vote just the opposite.

Admittedly, to do any of this, let alone all of it, is a lot. But here’s what is also true: We are that amazing, that brave, that brilliant, that strong. Not just on the big screen while dressed in pink, but right here and right now, in this life, yours, and mine.

After I watched the movie a second time, I recalled a few lines from Judith Duerk’s book A Circle of Stones:

How might your life have been different if there had been a place for you, a place for you to go . . . a place of women, to help you learn the ways of woman . . . a place where you were nurtured from an ancient flow sustaining you and steadying you as you sought to become yourself . . . ? How might your life have been different?

Everything would have been different. And in watching the Barbie movie, I believe it still can be. Yes, there’s lots of pink and plastic and humor, but there’s even more possibility and hope. And along the way, an unforgettable glimpse into a world in which women—when not affected by patriarchy—are fully, completely, and unapologetically themselves.

For me, this ideal and yes, this hope, is far more than something we wistfully imagine over popcorn, Red Vines, and a Diet Coke. When WE are fully, completely, and unapologetically ourselves—as real as real can be—that is the very thing, the magic formula, the secret spell that undoes patriarchy’s hold, turns everything rightside up again, and creates the possibility of a happily ever after.5 No longer “literally impossible,” instead, probable, certain, and sure.

May it be so.

The story I tell myself: I do NOT like exercise!

Jul 16, 2023 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Sovereignty

Exercise.

Ugh. To gain even the slightest insight into how I feel about this topic, you only need to hear the deep breath I just took and see how my shoulders slumped as I typed that singular word.

I do not like it. Not even a little bit. I never have. This is not to say I haven’t tried to like it, at the very least to persist. I’ve joined gyms, fitness centers, and workout programs designed exclusively for women. I’d downloaded apps. I’ve subscribed to online plans that have made amazing promises (along with a lot of fine print). I’ve bought a treadmill—then sold it. A Peloton—then sold it. I’ve had at least two yoga mats over the years that have been donated to Goodwill, almost completely unused. Weights, same. Even my desk converts to standing (a purchase I was sure I’d take advantage of), but I never press that button. I can find a gazillion reasons to not exercise. Well, up until last week.

My sister and brother-in-law spotted a gym just down the road from our house. Tom scoped it out on Monday and then took me with him on Tuesday before signing up, so that I could decide if I wanted to get in on the family discount. It’s a nice-enough place. Cardio equipment. Weight machines of every size, shape, and configuration. A pool that hosts water aerobic classes. Yoga (including “chair yoga”). Zumba. Spin. Tabata. Courses that are just for seniors—which, I guess, actually includes me. Personal trainers. Nutrition counseling. A smoothie bar. And an app for scheduling all these and more from the convenience of my phone.

I didn’t want to say “yes,” but I did. I want to want to go. And I do actually want to like it—exercise itself. Still, I’m not hopeful.

Do you remember the President’s Fitness Test? It’s highly possible that my resistance (and disdain) started there. The original six-part test consisted of push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, a standing broad jump, a shuttle run, a 50-yard dash and a softball throw for distance (ostensibly, according to this article, because it’s helpful to know who amongst the troops has the arm strength necessary to chuck a grenade the furthest, or at all). I hated the days set aside every year for these ranked activities. I could not do the pull-ups at all, the push-ups and sit-ups barely. A standing broad jump? Are you kidding? And the running—for speed? Uh, no. Let’s not even talk about the softball throw. All of this felt like a tortuous experiment to discern just how much shame an adolescent girl like me could endure. The answer? A lot.

Beyond this annual torture, there was recess and PE. I would have far preferred to sit in the corner and read a book than have to engage in activities that consistently left me feeling less-than, uncoordinated, unchosen and unwanted. Dodgeball. Tetherball. Four square. That dreaded horizontal ladder I watched my friends swing across with ease and joy. (More deep breaths and shoulder slumps just remembering all of this.)

I’d like to tell you I’m past all of this now, that these (very) old stories are no longer present in my psyche . . . nor remotely relevant. Still, as I walked through that gym just a few days ago, it all came flooding back. I saw the in-process “High Fitness” class filled with close to 30 women moving to loud music and the instructor’s endless “whoop” keeping time to a thumping bass; the incredibly strong (and buff) people lifting free weights and using machines I’m quite sure I should stay far, far away from; the pervading presence of muscles and discipline and skill, even ease. It was like I was 12 years old: I felt insecure, out-of-place, and instantly ashamed.

It somehow doesn’t matter that I know better, that I can most-certainly get on a treadmill or stationary bike without hurting or embarrassing myself, that I can probably even take a water aerobics class and survive. It doesn’t even matter that I know any and all of these things will make me feel better, increase my range of motion, build needed (and admittedly declining) strength. Somehow, the indelible reminder of shame supersedes my sanity—even now, even still.

I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one. And I’m definitely sure this is not limited to physical fitness or lack thereof. All of us have stories, memories, and specific places/events that, when replicated in the slightest, compel us to resistance and avoidance. It’s understandable. It’s allowed. And it’s normal. Of course we stay away from scenarios and experiences that summon unpleasant emotions! But here’s what I’ve been asking myself this week: What if I was able to let go of the story I’ve been telling myself for more than fifty years and instead, choose a new one?

What if, indeed!

You wouldn’t think this was much of a revelation for me, given that I talk and write about this all the time: the honest naming of the stories that have shaped us, our sovereignty to write them as we wish—with wisdom, courage, agency, and hope. But often hidden in unsuspecting places, is continued opportunity for me to practice what I preach. Thankfully.

So, Tuesday morning I said “yes” to the gym membership. Wednesday morning I went to a water aerobics class. Then again on Thursday. And Friday. (Shocking, I know!)

Believe me, I am under no illusion that three 45-minute sessions in the pool have miraculously cured me of my exercise-dislike. (It’s a wonder I returned after the first one given that the entire class, all 45 minutes, was choreographed to only remixed Madonna songs!) But then exercise isn’t really what I’m writing about here.

What I am writing about is taking stock of the poured-in-concrete stories we fervently cling to and faithfully believe (especially when we’re barely aware of such), the stories that still shape our choices or lack thereof, the stories that have formed our preferences and likes and dislikes, the stories that have kept us convinced of what we can and cannot, will and will not do.

  • Our perspectives on self and body and appearance.
  • What we believe about money and success.
  • How we view race and class.
  • What constitutes goodness and good enough.
  • Why we stay in relationships that do not serve.
  • Why we too-often compromise and comply.
  • Where we land on religion, politics, gun control, abortion, and issues of gender and sexuality.
  • Which battles we’ll fight and which we’ll intentionally avoid.
  • How we parent.
  • What we think of conflict.
  • What we tell ourselves, over and over and over again, about where and why we fall short or aren’t enough or are most-definitely too much.

None of our beliefs, attitudes, opinions, or behaviors related to any of these are formed in a vacuum, ex nihilo. They are formed and then reinforced by the stories we’ve been told, the ones we’ve lived, and those we continue to tell ourselves. When we look closer and dive deeper, when we honestly and bravely name our experiences and memories—especially the ones bound in shame—we are able, bit-by-bit, to choose and step into a new story; a story that is shaped by our own intention, choice, and will.

It’s possible that all of this sounds far too simplistic, as though *just* acknowledging an old story or two about exercise has somehow magically converted me into a water aerobics fan or fitness fanatic. Uh, not so much. But here’s the thing: in my experience, it’s been seemingly small “a-ha’s” like this one, tiny and unexpected glimpses into my subconscious, that wake me up to the possibility of change, to a different story, to one that is completely and wholly mine.

I’ve highlighted this quote before, but it is worth revisiting:

“Those who do not have power over the story that dominates their lives, power to retell it, to rethink it, deconstruct it, joke about it, and change it as times change, truly are powerless.” ~ Salman Rushdie

I hope you’ll join me in endlessly and infinitely looking closely and with tender care at the stories that have dominated your life; that do so even now, even still. I hope you’ll do as Rushdie recommends: retell them, rethink them, deconstruct them, and if appropriate, even joke about them; give yourself permission to change them as times change. You deserve to live the story that you choose, that you write, that you desire. Yes, even if it includes exercise.

May it be so.

6 Words that Change Everything

Jun 1, 2023 | My sort-of Sermons, Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power

You get to be 100% yourself, 100% of the time! 

It’s true: this is 10 words (plus the two %-signs). I’m getting to the 6-word version. Stick with me.

One of the primary reasons I remain compelled by and committed to the “be-100%-yourself” idea, by authenticity itself, is because it serves as a direct contradiction to patriarchy, capitalism, and all that (endlessly) strives to keep us “in our place,” silenced, shut down, and often shamed. We live in a world that is adamantly committed to us NOT being 100% ourselves. It wants us wanting. It wants us to see ourselves as not enough. And it wants us endlessly searching for (and buying) any and everything that we’ve become convinced will make us better, more, perfect, seen, heard, valued, worthy . . . Blech!  With authenticity, all of this falls away. You are no longer lured by the promise of a future or “someday” you because the current you is 100% present and accounted for. More than enough. And never too much. I’m also compelled by you being 100% yourself, 100% of the time because it serves as an incredibly  powerful discernment tool.When you’re NOT being 100% yourself, 100% of the time, you have something VERY specific to look at, be curious about and investigate. Here’s what I mean:

  • Consider a scenario or situation in which you felt “off.” Maybe something just wasn’t right. Maybe you were uncomfortable, even if only internally. Maybe you sensed tension – whether within or without. Maybe there was an edge of insecurity that hovered around you . . . or a tinge of anger. Maybe you pulled back or withdrew. Maybe you withheld your opinion. Maybe you felt ever-so-slightly (or blatantly) invisible.
  • Now, as you place yourself back in that particular scene, ask yourself this question: Was I being 100% myself?

When I look back on so many conversations, circumstances, relationships, even jobs in which I felt “off” (or any of the other myriad possibilities named above) I already know the answer to the question. “No. I was not being 100% myself.” Instead of being irritated by such, ashamed, frustrated, or self-berating, I can choose to be curious. I have new questions to ask. New things to wonder about. And new data to rely on that is housed in my very emotions and body! Here’s a quick example:In my most recent corporate position, after a sudden and shocking leadership change, I found myself feeling an increasing level of irritation. I was frustrated almost all the time. I felt levels of tension and stress that had not existed before. I was pouring one extra glass of wine at night. I woke up feeling exhausted before I even began another day. It took me a while to acknowledge any of this, believe me; but once I looked closely enough to determine what had changed, I saw that, indeed, I was NOT being 100% myself. My relationship with my new boss had me second-guessing myself, compromising, complying, and feeling a low-grade level of fear that I’d do the wrong thing. In both big and small ways, I was contorting myself into what I thought he wanted me to be. This was a powerful “seeing” for me. It allowed me to put my emotions and bodily responses in the context of authenticity (or lack thereof), I had all the discernment I could have needed – and the necessary next steps. Clearly, the work ahead was to be 100% myself, no matter what; to watch what would happen when I was genuine and authentic 100% of the time; to not compromise or comply; to choose to trust my voice, my perspective, my opinions, my experience – come what may. I knew it wouldn’t go smoothly. I knew I would ruffle some feathers and upset an apple cart or two. I also knew that I couldn’t not be me! Not anymore. Not after years and years (and years) of doing so throughout my life. Not after working so hard to identify who that 100%-me actually was!It didn’t take long (less than a month, I think) before it became clear that I could not stay. Of course, I felt every bit of the risk and fear that went along with this. I was severing myself from my source of income, after all! But at the very same time, I felt confident, sure, and strong. I trusted myself and my decision. Being less than 100% myself was no longer tenable.

So, the 6-Words that change everything form themselves into a question:

Am I being 100 percent myself? 

I’d cannot encourage you strongly enough to ask yourself this question again and again and again. NOT from a place of self-critique or self-criticism or irritation or shame; rather, from a place of gentle and grace-filled curiosity. When your answer is “no,” you now have information, data, and context to work with. That’s exciting! It means you can ask another whole series of questions that helps you understand and discern even more!

  • Why am I not being 100% myself in this situation?
  • What would happen if I was?
  • What is it costing me to be less than 100% myself? Where else and how is this impacting me in other aspects of my life?
  • Is there a pattern (or a person) that consistently brings this tension to the fore for me? What does that awareness invite me to explore?
  • What behavior(s) do I demonstrate that lets me know I’m not being 100% myself?
  • What emotion(s) do I feel that give me a clue that I’m not being 100% myself?
  • What happens in my physical body as powerful reminder that I’m not being 100% myself?
  • In what small (or large) ways can I experiment with being 100% myself when this situation presents itself again?

“We know when we’re in the company of someone who has cut through hesitation to be brilliant, gentle, ridiculous and natural. They evince the most compelling and authoritative quality there is. Enough, just be who you are.” ~ Susan PiverWhen you are 100% yourself, 100% of the time, YOU are that person! Brilliant. Gentle. Ridiculous. Natural. Amazing. Wise. Witty. Kind. Generous. Creative. Courageous. Strong. Tender. Compassionate. Winsome. Grounded. Whole. You evince the most compelling and authoritative quality there is. You are enough. Just be who you are. No hesitation at all.

May it be so!

Everything You Need

May 18, 2023 | Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

In the midst of life’s ups and down, I am grateful for that which is steady, familiar, and comfortable.

I haven’t always seen things this way.

Too often, I’ve resisted the “ordinariness” of my life. I’ve fallen prey to the myth that I should be better and more. I’ve been exhausted by endlessly waiting for something, anything, everything to change. I’ve searched and searched outside myself for a fix, for respite, for “salvation,” so to speak.

I still do sometimes. Thankfully, less and less.

These days, “ordinary” feels like respite. Better and more feel like lies (because they are). I rarely wait or hope or pine for change. And bit by bit I am learning to look within and somewhat-miraculously discover everything I need.

Even this is comforting: these slow-but-sure shifts.

“Comfort is so much more than bubble baths and chocolate. Not that both aren’t fabulous, but the popular conception of comfort is often about numbing out or escaping, not about truly finding a way to face into things honestly and authentically.”  ~ Jen Louden

Amen.

True, deep comfort is found when we face things honestly and authentically, when we ARE our honest and authentic selves. The opposite is also true: when we are NOT our honest and authentic selves, (deep) comfort is impossible to find.

I came across a different expression of this truth in a book I read this past week (and highly recommend): Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May.

She says, “We ‘want’ in the archaic sense of the word, as if we are lacking something and need to absorb it in order to be whole again. These wants are often astonishingly inaccurate: drugs and alcohol, which poison instead of reintegrate; relationships with people who do not make us feel safe or loved; objects that we do not need, cannot afford, which hang around our necks like albatrosses of debt long after the yearning for them has passed. Underneath this chaos and clutter lies a longing for more elemental things—love, beauty, comfort . . . “ 

“Chaos and clutter” come when we look outside ourselves for wholeness; when we forget that WE are what we need. Said another way: WE are the font from which deep comfort flows. 

Quite frankly, even knowing what I know now, it is still a struggle to trust all that dwells within me, to receive the deep comfort that is and always has been mine. I want nothing more. And I am certain that every bit of this—this learning to turn within—is a process, a journey, a heroine’s quest, an endless discovery, the gift of life itself.

“A woman discovers the way home to herself in a quiet descent into the richness of her own life. In the descent, she reverses the tendency to look outside of herself for salvation. In the “deep places,” she reunites with her essential self and reclaims her natural resources.” ~ Patricia Lynn Reilly

THIS is comfort, yes?

A woman who knows to live in ways that are not dependent on external circumstances, other people, better and more, success or not.

A woman who knows to dive deep below the surface to find respite and calm; to be and remain whole.

A woman who knows she can quiet the clamor and din, discern among pressures and demands, by listening to her heart.

A woman who knows that being her honest and authentic self is her birthright – whether or not that creates dis-comfort for others.

A woman who knows joy is to be found in the ordinary, in the rhythms and routines that provide both structure and support.

A woman who knows she has more to express, more to reveal, more to offer, more to give; who nurtures all that she carries within; who cannot help but birth ever more of her true-and-beautiful self into the world.

We’re invited to all of this and then some. We’re invited home . . . to ourselves . . . at last. Comfort, to be sure.

May it be so. 

It’s a relief to tell the truth.

May 11, 2023 | Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

“It’s a relief to speak the truth. I don’t have to pretend.” ~ Karen Maezen Miller

My thoughts about truth-telling are supported by two bookends. One the one side is my deep and inviolate belief that you already know your truth. It’s that know-that-you-know-that-you-know voice within that cannot and will not be silenced; it never leaves you. On the other side is the acknowledgement that your truth-telling often comes with risk, cost, and consequence – which is the very reason you, me, most women, often forego it, tone it down, keep ourselves safe, all of the above.

What’s missing though, is what Karen Maezen Miller (above) offers in naming truth-telling as relief.

Without rest as promised-reward, truth-telling often remains too daunting and not worth either the effort or the exhaustion. Pretending then, becomes our default.

About pretending. 
We are conditioned to pretend from a very early age. We learn how to be what others expect, what others need, what others demand. And confusingly, our ability to do and be exactly this, is what earns us affirmation, praise, and belonging. (No wonder we’re exhausted.)

“In the fullness of time, we become dizzy from swirling; our lives ache from being twisted out of shape; and our spirits become depleted from servicing others with our energy and attention.” ~ Patricia Lynn Reilly, A Deeper Wisdom: The 12 Steps from a Woman’s Perspective

To tell the truth, to NOT pretend, feels far more like labor than rest, far more like risk than reward because pretending is what we’re used to, what we know best, what we become best at. But to keep pretending, even though potentially “easier” (deceivingly so), chips away at our true self, our wholeness, our groundedness, our very experience of who we are as a woman in this world.  

In thinking a lot about this in the past few days, I decided to compile a cursory inventory of my own pretending:

  • I learned early that being smart, witty, and a “thinker” would get me the most attention from my dad. I wasn’t pretending to be smart, witty, and a thinker but I DID know, somewhere within, that it was required to feel loved. Being who he wanted and needed me to be allowed me to feel seen, heard, and valued.
  • As a teenager and through my 20s, I pretended in ways designed to summon male approval. It didn’t work a lot of the time, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t committed to trying. If I pretended to be what they wanted, surely I would be wanted.
  • During five years of infertility, I pretended to trust in God’s will by (trying to) believe in some higher plan for my life. The truth—what I really felt—was too dark, too hopeless, too devoid of the faith I had learned to display, no matter what.
  • During way too much of my marriage, I pretended that I was OK with what was happening around and within me. The truth would be too disruptive, misunderstood, the beginning of the end. Pretending felt like self-preservation, relationship-preservation.
  • In a later relationship, post-divorce, I pretended to be fine with his distance, his cutting sarcasm, his utter disappearance emotionally. Pretending meant I didn’t have to be alone.
  • In more than one corporate position, I pretended that feeling like I was the crazy one was normal; that it was “just the way things are” as a woman in leadership. Pretending meant that I could stay, that I had a seat at the table, that I belonged.

Now I know better.

  • The truth is that I am worthy of being seen, heard, and valued because of who I am – not because of what I do or how I act, even how smart I might sound.
  • The truth is that I am worthy of being wanted, period.
  • The truth is that the heartache of infertility was hardly a divestiture of my faith, but a fierce (and faithful) clinging to any faith at all.
  • The truth is that my marriage was pretend as long as I was pretending; what I was working so hard to preserve was not honest or real.
  • The truth is that being in relationship with someone who couldn’t stay, couldn’t express emotion, and wouldn’t honor me is not worth being in at all.
  • The truth is that I am not the crazy one; my seat at the table is deserved – even if not given or allowed.

The truth is that typing every one of the sentences above IS a relief, even now. Though some were a long time in coming, each were a relief then, as well. 

“It is a relief to speak the truth. I don’t have to pretend.”

Where have you felt the exhaustion of being someone other than yourself? What stories come to mind? What “inventory of pretending” might you compile? What blessed relief might you know if you did speak the truth, your truth? 

These are not easy questions. Answering them with intentional choice and bold action IS risky, costly, and full of consequence. But so is pretending.

You deserve to be yourself. You deserve to experience every moment of every day fully and completely yourself no matter what. You deserve to speak your truth. You deserve to never pretend at all. You deserve to know that who you are is beautiful, worthy, and wise no matter what. And that IS a relief.

Is this exactly the life I want?

May 4, 2023 | Sovereignty

Is this exactly the life I want?

My answer is sometimes a definitive and enthusiastic “yes,” and other times, just as definitive but far less enthusiastic, a “no.” So many aspects of my life have far surpassed what I would have imagined for myself . . . and . . . I am not the same woman I was twenty, ten, even five years ago. What offers meaning has changed. What matters has changed. What I want has changed. At the same time, there are realities (within and without) that are not exactly what I want; there is so much room to grow and change, so much with which I both struggle and hope.

Years and years ago, I would have pondered this question and been extremely frustrated. “Why am I not further along? Why am I not more satisfied? What is wrong with me?” I am pretty sure I felt an implicit and explicit demand to get my s**t together – harsh, contemptuous, self-critical. I don’t particularly like admitting this but somehow, remembering and acknowledging it is like opening the windows for the first time in Spring, the freshest breeze, a fragrance that wafts through the room and carries the memory of so much healing and growth during the seasons of darkness and cold.

Years and years ago I would have been determined to come up with an answer that was specific and detailed and lofty, I now feel no need to come up with an answer at all – which is an answer in and of itself.

I’m far more compelled by the life that I have than wondering if I’m living the one that I want. 

This is not to say that the question is not relevant. It most definitely is! Years and years ago and still today. It’s the asking that matters. 

*****

Is this exactly the life you want?

Your answer offers you crystal-clear insight into the life you have right now: all that you can honor, all that you can change, and all that remains yours to take agency in/with on your own behalf.

Your answer gives you profound perspective into the life you have right now: what you know and experience in relationship with others, what might be missing, what needs to be said, what needs to be forgiven, what is yours to do and say and celebrate.

Your answer ushers you right into the center of your desire right now: no ignoring it, no toning it down, no compromise or compliance. And that is a VERY good thing!

Your answer calls you home to the truth of what “is,” to the life that is already yours, to the day-in-day-out reality of here and now. Which feels like the point of even asking the question in the first place. It is an endless and arms-wide-open invitation to live boldly, period. Not perfectly. Not adeptly. Not even consistently. Embracing struggle and hope, painful setbacks and leaps forward, old stories of self-contempt alongside increasing moments of self-love, loss and celebration, grief and joy. This IS exactly the life we want, yes? For ourselves, for others, and for our world.

May it be so.