Changed

August 29, 2020

I was having drinks with a friend the other night when he mentioned he’s a 9 out of 10 on the extroversion scale.

“Yes, I know,” I responded with a laugh.  “I’m probably a three on that very same scale.”

“What’s that like?” he asked.

What a wonderful question!

I proceeded to answer and describe how I feel when I have introversion fatigue, what recharging alone feels like and any other question he asks as he truly tries to understand the other side of the coin. I love putting feelings and experiences into words. It was a delightful conversation.

I’ve been reflecting a lot lately, especially during my introvert recharging time. Maybe it’s because my brain surgery anniversary is coming up, maybe it’s because my birthday is approaching, maybe it’s because I’ve overcome some fears lately, maybe it’s because I moved cross country, or maybe it’s because I have an overdeveloped sense of introspection, who’s to say.

All I know is that I’m paying more attention to the narratives in my head, to where my brain goes when it’s quiet or when it’s active, to where it dwells when I’m around people. My internal life is very rich and fulfilling and that spills out to other areas of my life, in ways that I really enjoy.

I’ve realized lately that I actually really like myself and that for the first time I’m content. Not to say that everything’s going swimmingly. I’m in a really challenging job, during a really hard time, I still have chronic pain every single day of my life, I’m about to age out of my parent’s health insurance coverage, and eight million other things. But inexplicably, I’m content.

I’ve attributed it to healing from my trauma, and I do honestly think that’s part of it, but what’s really, life-alteringly changed during the last six years, is my relationship with God. I think the work of a relationship with God, the discipline of reading his Word, the practice of prayer, the learning of His character, the trust that’s developed, I think that’s what changed me. I think that’s why I like myself. I think that’s why I worry less. I think that’s quieting a voice in my head I didn’t want and didn’t realize was speaking quite so loudly.

I didn’t like myself. I was deeply insecure. Brain surgery was the beginning of confronting all of that. I remember looking in the mirror when I was getting ready one morning and thinking that my beauty was gone with the hair that was shaved. That the scar marring ten inches of the back of my head was the true representation of me. I remember the countless tears shed over my self-image. I remember praying to God, “Let me see myself how you see me. Then make me beautiful on the inside and the outside.” I’d be looking in the mirror disheartened, would close my eyes and say that prayer, and then open them expecting I’d see something different. The same image, but it would be different in my perception. 

Nope. Not how it happened. Sure, one day the self-loathing of how I looked was gone, that maybe I was pretty, but a scar marring the right side of my chest put a dent in that, the weight gain from my tumor chipped away at it further, and then the stretch marks, and so on. What I thought was self-acceptance was a cheap, temporal answer to a question I shouldn’t have been asking.

Feeling like I wasn’t pretty because of my brain surgery stemmed from the realization that as a result of this major surgery and drastic change in my bone structure and appearance, I was different.  

I remember the first time someone called me disabled.

It stung.

For so much of my medical issues, I felt exasperated at how differently I had to live my life and I just wanted to be normal. I didn’t want the attention from being different, I didn’t want the burden of being different, and I didn’t want the label of being different. It was frustrating to have to rest twice as much as my peers to be able to be half as active. It was frustrating to have a body that wasn’t supposed to have as many issues as people my age have. It was a point of anxiety to be differently-abled. I think it was an acute stab of pain that I didn’t know was driving so much of my heartache. That I couldn’t date normally, that I couldn’t be a normal friend, or a normal employee, that I couldn’t workout normally or participate in life normally. I think it brought its own level of grief to the equation.

As I was starting the grieving process, the healing process, I was addressing manifestations of this desire to be normal. Jealousy, anger, disappointment, betrayal, all of the ways it was popping up in my life, I was disentangling from it.

Lately though, in the last few weeks, I’ve been more attuned to the voice in my head driving this narrative of normality. And I want it to shut up.

Me: “If I get up at 5:45am on the mornings I have 7:00am conference calls I can have my quiet time with God before I start my day. I can even get into that rhythm and go to the 6:00am yoga classes once or twice a week at the local studio so I can finally stop canceling my workout when my job keeps getting in the way. If I get up that early on weekends I can have time to write when it’s quiet and I bet my body will feel better in getting in a sleep routine that’s consistent.”
Narrative in my mind: “WHAT?! You want to get up at 5:45 AM on a SATURDAY. Are you crazy??? Saturdays are for sleeping in, everyone says so, you can’t do that. It’s weird.”
Me: “Well, I’ll start getting ready for bed around 9:00pm so that I can get around 8 hours of sleep and still get up at 5:45.”
Narrative: “You’re going to go to bed at 9:00pm?!?! That’s so early, I thought you were 25, not 85?”

It’s exhausting! I don’t know where this voice came from, but it’s starting to sound less and less like my own. So I’ve started to question it ruthlessly.

Narrative: “You can’t get up at 5:45am on a weekend.”
Me: “Ha, why not?”
Narrative: “It’s weird.”
Me: “And? So what.”

I’ve realized that the more I’ve plugged into God, the more I’ve gotten to know His character and chosen to trust him, the less power this narrative holds. I don’t care about being normal. I don’t fear being different. I crave authenticity.  

I thought it was a result of healing, but I know now it’s a product of my relationship with God. I don’t need to be liked like I once strived for. I don’t need to hide the authentic parts of myself out of fear they won’t be accepted. I’m realizing that regardless of what I do or how I handle any given situation there will be people that judge me for not doing what they perceive as right and there will be people who will always have to comment and most times it won’t be gracious. So I can choose to not care, to not give credence or authority to people who aren’t my close family and friends, who don’t know me, or who don’t really care to see me become all that I am under God for my life and eternal purpose.

If there are people who don’t like ice cream, then there are going to be people who don’t like me.

And I love ice cream.

I know that on my own strength I’m not able to throw off the expectations to be normal from others or myself. But I spend time every day with the One who I live my life for and who can strengthen me.

So I get up at 5:45am, I go to bed at 9 o’clock in the evening. I’m cautious of the content I consume. I pick up hobbies like hand embroidery and letter writing. I bring flowers to a friends’ house just because. I do what I need to do for my body.  

God made my body different. My body doesn’t care that it isn’t “normal” and doesn’t try to be. Neither do I. It functions as God made it, and I strive, with God, to do the same.

I worry less, as a result.

Which is nice.

I have confidence and am content that I am where God has me and every day I seek to listen to the Spirit of God within me for step-by-step directions for my day and my life. So when fear pops up that I’m not being heard at work, I rest in God’s covering the outcome and execute the directions I need to take. When anxiety about dating comes up, I rely on God’s comfort and care for every aspect of my life. I know the inputs that I’m responsible for and fulfill them accordingly, I know the ultimate impact will be for God’s glory and for my good, so I trust the outcome will be to bring that impact about.

Ultimately, I like who I am because I love my God. I worry less because of who He is. It’s not been an easy place to get to, and it’s something I bring to God daily. I only recently was looking in the mirror yet again, in a different time and place from when I first prayed that God would let me see myself as he sees me, that I realized God was answering that prayer. I see value. Worth. Beauty. And I see His overwhelming love.

I see a really beautiful change.

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