can you see me?

 It's 3:02am and I should be sleeping, but I'm not.

I'm staring at the blank wall behind my bed and swallowing a wave of nausea as the projector in my head flips chaotically through my memories. I cringe. I hold my breath. I clench and unclench my fists.

I realized recently that there is a common thread throughout the memories that my brain chooses for the highlight reel. 

Can you see me?

It echoes between the walls of my soul. 

For as long as I can remember I have wanted to be seen. To be noticed. To be known. But in a very specific way. I don't just want to be seen, I want to be admired. 

I want to be seen as brave, beautiful, strong, responsible, wise, competent, kind, diligent, special, and successful, to name a few. At the end of the day I want to be seen as good. Please tell me I'm not the only one. 

I want you to see me.

Yes, you. I'm talking to you, reader. 

Family, Friends, Coworkers, Distant relatives, Acquaintances, Christians, Atheists', Buddhists, Democrats, Republicans, Young, Old, Wise, Ignorant...etc.

I want you to see me.

Which is why I am awake, tossing and turning at an ungodly hour. I am thinking about all of the times my flaws have slipped through the cracks of my futile efforts to appear "good." Some memories boast of my ugliest mistakes while some simply announce that I "said the wrong thing" or "made the wrong face." 

Like a chameleon I want to adjust myself in whatever-which-way that will gain your approval. And failing to gain that approval feels devastating. There is an avalanche of evidence against my illusion of somehow pleasing everyone, which leaves me with lots of opportunities to cringe in the middle of the night as I rolodex through my past.

Can you see me?

That question seems to be tattooed on the inside of my ever loving eyelids. I so desperately want to be seen by you. And I want you to love what you see. Because then maybe, just maybe, you will love me. 

Oh. 

There it is.

My soul is constantly searching for the affirmation that I am enough. That who I am is worthy of love and acceptance and belonging. So I peer into the chasm of my history and carefully calculate how you see me, thinking that is where I will find the evidence of my true value. 

Do you see me as brave, beautiful, strong, responsible, wise, competent, kind, diligent, special, and successful? Do you see me as a failure, a burden, rude, selfish, broken, foolish, and flawed?

In reality, there's no way to know what you see when you look at me. I can't read your mind. If I could I would probably be surprised at how little you were actually thinking about me. And even if you judged me with the same scrutiny that I judge myself, your opinions would be varied. One action could be perceived as wise to you and extremely foolish to someone else. 

You are human, just like me. Flawed, beautiful, brave, and foolish. To ask you to define my value is unfair to us both...despite what my brain may tell me at o'dark thirty. 

Can you see me?

My soul was wired to ask that question - it's imbedded in my core. It drives me to my knees. And it's there that I find the same truth again and again. 

There is someone who sees me. One who has seen every single snapshot of my life; every failure, every victory, every secret and every public announcement. I believe that I am seen by a good God. And when He looks at me He doesn't see me the way I want to be seen. 

He sees Me. 

All of me. He sees the good, the bad, and the ugly. He sees the actions and the motives behind them. He sees the maturity and growth and the foolishness. He will never turn away in disgust. He tells me that I am loved. 

I am worthy of love and belonging not because I am without flaws, but because I am designed for love and belonging. The need to be seen and known and loved is no accident. It's woven into the fiber of my being. 

So when I find myself tossing and turning in the night, desperate for reassurance, I want to turn my gaze to the truth that I am seen by the One who loves me most. There is no façade, no fear, no excuses. I am just me. And no matter what you think about me, good or bad, it's ok. I can rest in my worth as a daughter of God, created with intentionality and purpose, loved extravagantly and unconditionally. 

As I finish writing this I am reminded that so often our actions are driven by unacknowledged and/or unmet needs. Chances are, there's a reoccurring theme behind that things that keep you awake at night too. What is it? What echoes off the walls of your soul? 

let go.

You’re still in shock

It makes sense

The wind knocked out of your chest

Reality hit you this morning

Take some time, take a breath

When you woke up and rubbed your eyes and the images remained

And you realized that nothing will ever be the same

You thought…so many things

And then it was not at all what you thought

Now you’re left sitting in the rubble

Picking up the pieces

Desperately trying to make sense of it all

Then, a flutter in your ribcage

A whisper in your heart

Giving you direction in the chaos

A place to start

Let go.

It’s quiet, but firm

Unrelenting

Let go of what you thought it would be.

In the ashes and the rubble of your dreams

Let go

Let go of what you expected of yourself and what you expected of Me

Weep, mourn, rage

Whatever it takes

But please, let go

I know it sounds cliché and trite and dismissive

And I know you’re angry that I even brought it up

You’ve held on so tightly for so very long

It’s time to admit that what you wished for is gone

Let the dust settle

Let the tears fall

Let go

Let go of who you were, and who you will never be again

Let go of the regret, the guilt, the shame

No, it won’t erase the anger or the pain or the scars

It won’t rewrite your history or realign the stars

But it will help you breathe

Tend your wounds

Heal your heart

So let go

It’s the only place to start

twenty five.

1.     Food past the expiration date isn't worth it. 

2.     Spiritual, emotional, and physical connection with others is vital to life.

3.     Questioning what you believe requires integrity.

4.     Friendships/relationships are allowed to grow, change, and disappoint without devaluing the individuals involved.

5.     Cat urine is the worst smell in the world.

6.     There is absolutely no sense in keeping (or wearing) clothes that no longer fit.

7.      Nobody has all the answers.

8.     Sometimes self-care just looks like survival.

9.     Persistent, domineering self-talk can still be completely false.

10. Buy the non-slip shoes.

11. Just because you can stay up past midnight doesn’t make it a good idea.

12. It’s perfectly ok and healthy to change your mind.

13. To-do lists are a magical game-changer.

14. Debt is not the end of the world.

15. Pray bigger prayers.

16. Life is harsh. Cherish the beauty.

17. Humans in the church are just as messy as humans outside the church.

18. Being ignorant when you are young is not a failure – it’s normal.

19. Don’t get drunk…but if you must, do it around sober, safe people.

20. Seeking professional help is underrated.

21. Advocate for yourself in the doctor’s office.

22. Gaining weight is not the end of the world.

23. You are allowed to let go of harmful beliefs,

24. There is tremendous healing potential in vulnerability…There is also tremendous potential for wounding.

25. Art is underrated in the adult world. Do it. Share it. Celebrate it.

because it matters (be kind).

It's been a hell of a season, hasn't it? 

In conversations over zoom, in person, through face masks and over copious cups of hot beverages I have heard it again and again. We are weary. We are struggling. We are aching.

We got the proverbial wind knocked out of us. We have been repeatedly kicked while down. We have absorbed multiple "last straw" moments and yet we are still standing...Or crawling...Or at least, breathing. 

God only knows the details of my hard season and I don't know yours. The struggle has taken many different shapes, colors, and sizes. No two of us share the exact pain, and yet we can share a collective sigh that somehow sums up the experience.

And so here we are. 

And yet, in a season where so many are feeling different shades of the same struggle, we find ourselves increasingly divided and hostile. As a natural-born peacemaker, it's exhausting to watch. I have dear friends and family that span a vast range of opinions regarding political, religious (or non-religious), economic, and scientific worldviews (to name a few). It seems that I know people on all extreme ends of the spectrum of opinions. 

This is what I have concluded...

Nobody has all the answers... if any. 

Most people are doing the best that they can with the resources that they have. 

We are not all that different.

...And if ever there was a time to be kind, it's now. 

2021 was hands down the most difficult year I have lived yet. The perfect storm of circumstances collided during the pandemic for me resulting in the loss of so many precious things. One of those precious things was certainty. 

Things like my purpose, my faith, and my passion feel shaken to the core. 

I have been questioning so much and so often that some days it feels as if  I will wake up and realize I have been unknowingly cast as a supporting character in a satirical TV show. So often I have felt as if nothing matters anymore. As if life is a meaningless and cruel joke. In the chaos of everything that has happened and is happening in the world and in my personal life, is there meaning to be found? 

In the ashes of everything I thought I knew, I have discovered something that I believe does matter.

It's love.  

See, we humans are so messy, so awful, and so desperately beautiful that it takes my breath away. To experience love is so painful and so necessary that we will stop at nothing to obtain some version of it. We each carry the ability to love and be loved and yet for whatever reasons we withhold it, extinguish it, or abuse it. 

This is my plea. 

Be kind. 

You have no idea the pain that another human is carrying in their soul. 

You are no better and no greater than your neighbor that you mock. We are all simply human. You cannot begin to boast of knowing the why behind someone else's behavior. You can speculate, you can guess, you can even puzzle together the handful of facts you hold. But it is not yours to know or to judge another soul. It is yours to love. 

That's what makes your life beautiful. Not your opinions, not your knowledge, not your certainty. It's your love. 

We are all tired. We are all struggling. We are all aching.

Please, be kind. 

Be defined by the one thing that makes humanity beautiful, that makes human life worth living. Be defined by love. 

Because it matters.

At the end of the day when everything else has burned to ashes, love matters. 

Be kind. 

Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13:13

crying over brownies.

I jumped behind the couch before I had a chance to process the peculiarity of it. I tucked my knees, wrapped my arms around my body, and the dam broke. As I cried, it began to dawn on me how ridiculous this must look.

After all, the crammed-between-the wall-and-the-back-of-a-sectional in a dark room doesn’t really scream “dignified” in my book (or “sane” for that matter).

And why, you may ask, am I hiding behind a couch, crying and shaking like it’s the start of the apocalypse?

Because I ate a brownie.

I ate a brownie to challenge my eating disorder. Clearly the eating disorder fought back (I’ll spare you the inner dialogue).

I discovered something in that moment behind the couch:

It is incredibly vulnerable to cry over brownies.

I have a loud inner critic that informs me almost 24/7 that the things that hurt me “shouldn’t hurt” or that the feelings I have shouldn’t be “that intense” or that those raw, sensitive parts of my heart “shouldn’t exist” and/or “don’t matter.”

You’re crying about a BROWNIE, Joanna! C’mon! This is idiotic.

And that’s the reason I jumped behind the couch.

Because in my heart of hearts I believe that no one should see me cry over such a “stupid” thing. That my feelings are wrong and nobody should see them. My feelings are too much. I am too much. That the most appropriate and logical thing to do in moments of intense emotion is to go away.

So, I hide. Behind couches, yes… but most often beneath a mountain of “right” answers, independence, introvert excuses and productivity.

In truth, I would rather discuss difficult emotions for hours upon end than feel them for 90 seconds. And heaven forbid there is another human in the room with me when I feel them. I don’t want to be seen crying over brownies. How embarrassing.

Let’s be real, I wasn’t crying about the brownie.

There is a tender part in my heart that aches from years and years of believing that what I eat is a direct reflection of my value as a human being. That if I don’t do that area of my life perfectly, I won’t be seen and I won’t be loved.

So, I wasn’t crying about the brownie. I was crying because it hurts to be unseen, unknown, and unloved. It’s hurts to challenge the voice in my head that is convinced that this is all dependent on the brownie. Even more than that, it hurts that I have believed this since I was a little girl, and as a result, invited the wrecking ball of an eating disorder into my life.

It hurts.

I was crying because it hurts.

And pain is so vulnerable.

Maybe for you it’s not a brownie. Maybe it’s a comment your partner made (or didn’t make), or the job you didn’t get, or craving the substance you are trying to give up, or the flashbacks, or the cancelled appointment, or coming home to an empty apartment, or the unmet expectation that your family will know what to say and when…

Sometimes it just hurts.

Can we learn how to say things like that? To feel things like that? Things like:

I’m hurting
I’m sad/mad/disappointed/confused..etc
It hurt when…
I feel unlovable
I’m struggling with my inner critic
I’m so tired
I need encouragement
I’m scared
I feel ashamed
I don’t have all the answers
Will you help me?

And I don’t just mean when life is crisis. I mean in the brownie moments. In those little things that really are not little at all. I personally try to wait until the big moments to have my meltdowns. You know, the screaming-in-my-face-billboard-you-are-DEFINITELY-not-ok moments.

I want to learn to be brave in the brownie moments.

To tell those tender parts of my heart “you matter” and to invite them to have a place in my life (my not-hiding-behind-the-couch-life). To feel the hurts, even if the cause seems “idiotic.” To allow myself to be seen and loved in those spaces.

This is new territory for me.

I’m scared
I feel ashamed
I don’t have all the answers
and sometimes it just hurts.

If that means crying over brownies, so be it.

in the dark.

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I love the darkness

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I love walking or jogging in the dark with the stars and silent streetlights.  I love exploring caves, climbing on a roof at night, or laying down on cold cement to ponder the night sky.

There is something about the dark that feels safe to me. Comforting. It’s the idea of being enveloped in something and blotted out of view. I feel invisible in the dark, and that feels good.

It’s hard to be seen.

Especially for my ever-loving-self wearied by the constant awareness of how I am seen. For as long as I can remember, I have diligently watched the reactions of the people around me. Reading into faces, tones, words, and trying to gauge how I can present myself in the most acceptable way. I have struggled on the journey to be myself rather than the image I portray.

We are miles down the trail but nowhere near the summit, friends.

I love the darkness.

I’m not sure when that started because as a kid, I slept with my closet light on and the door cracked open. Heck, I even sprinted to the bed after flipping off the light because you know, monsters.

Now, the dark feels like a refuge. A place to breathe, to sleep, to pause. To pretend the rest of the world does not exist. To pretend life is as peaceful and beautiful as it appears in the starlight.

A place where you cannot see me and I cannot see you.

This feels safe…for awhile.

I’m learning a painful truth in this season of pandemic-quarantine-isolation-stay-at-home-national-emergency. Ready?

We are not designed to live in the dark.

(please don’t roll your eyes, I know I’m the only one who JUST figured this out).

I crave acceptance, affection, and unconditional love. I have tried my best to be seen in a way that will provide these commodities. The problem with my efforts is this:

The only parts of me that are able to receive said commodities are the parts that I allow to be exposed. The parts of me kept hidden in the dark will never experience the miracle of being truly, extravagantly loved. 

In the dark I will continue to long, hunger, and starve to be seen. Truly seen.

In the incredible book “The Soul of Shame,” Curt Thompson writes that we are all storytellers. We are all longing, searching, seeking, someone who wants to hear us tell our story.

To really listen, to hear, to see us for all that we are.

So while the dark may seem safe, it is anything but true.

I can hide from myself and hide from you, but there is One who sees my soul.

I am finding a desperation in this season to encounter my Abba with an intensity I have not experienced before. The noise in my corner of the world has both increased and decreased in pandemic-land. I cannot pretend away this reality. I am needy in too many ways. Shaken in vulnerable places. And I am brought to my knees, not to simply “pray” but to pour out my heart and my tears.

In the dark, I need to be seen.

I need Him to envelope me, because the darkness will not hold my soul in a safe embrace.

I see the messiest parts of myself and pretending in the dark is no longer enough. I cannot present the image to those around me because there is no one to see. Nothing but social media, phone calls, and video chat. Showing up at work to be seen, but only with the parts of myself that are appropriate for that setting.  

I am lonely and I know I am not alone.

We are not designed to live in the dark. We are designed to be seen, and to see each other.

Friend, do you know that your soul is seen? That here, in the madness of 2020, you are not invisible? There is One who sees you in your little corner of the world and knows the state of your life, your family, your workplace, and your soul. You are not alone, unheard, unseen, or unloved.

There is safety for my soul in the presence of a good God in the middle of a bad season. I can sit on my living room floor in the morning sunlight or the cold cement at night and I can rest in the truth that I am known and loved, no matter what this crazy future holds.

I hold this truth tightly, desperately.

I am inviting the light. Inviting exposure to the parts of my heart that cry out to be seen, to be loved. If I cannot do that with others in person, I can sure as hell do it with the God who refuses to be confined by physical boundaries. He sees me.

I will find my refuge enveloped in the light, though the dark endures around me and the storm rages inside me. 

Will you join me?

If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,

and the light about me be night,”

even the darkness is not dark to you;

    the night is bright as the day,

    for darkness is as light with you.

(Psalm 139:7-12)

For he will hide me in his shelter

    in the day of trouble;

he will conceal me under the cover of his tent;

    he will lift me high upon a rock.

(Psalm 27:5)

Blessed be the Lord,

    for he has wondrously shown his steadfast love to me

    when I was in a besieged city.

I had said in my alarm,

 “I am cut off from your sight.”

But you heard the voice of my pleas for mercy

    when I cried to you for help.

(Psalm 31:21-22)

child.

She felt the warmth under her bare feet as she took giant steps forward, careful not to step on the cracks in the pavement. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the sunshine seemed to cheer everything in sight. With a fistful of wildflowers in one hand, she used the other to carefully pluck the flower petals from their respective stems. Finally in one grand motion, she throws the petals above her head and laughs as she watches them drift to the ground all around her. 

Then, she counts them methodically to see which side of the sidewalk received the most abundant snowfall of petals. 

Petals on the left? Kitten. Petals on the right? Puppy. 

The left side has the most petals, so she shrugs her shoulders and began hunting for more flowers while she daydreams about the color and name of her kitten.

-

2:26pm. The soft pink curtains and horse stickers on the wall seem to be staring at her in a hostile way. It's been too many days in this room and it feels as if the bedroom itself is angry at her for overstaying her welcome. She looks at her feet, the lump in the blanket at the base of her bed. It's quiet, but not peaceful. The room feels empty in a tangible way. 

Another cassette tape, another coloring book, another week of homework in bed. 

And she's starting to lose the ability to care. 

-

She grasps for the tangled, black mane of what she believes to be the best and most beautiful horse in the galaxy. In the other hand, she balances the green and white nylon reins between her fingers. On Kitty's bare-back, she can feel the excited energy under her seat and along the inside of her legs.  As hooves pound the sod in the field beneath them, her own adrenaline surges to match the horse. 

It's as if she is flying above reality for a few moments where nothing can touch her, and nothing compares to this feeling.

-

I don't particularly love vulnerability.

Ok, let's be honest, vulnerability terrifies me.

(If you can think of a more intense, fear related word, insert that).

Now, I can share my story. I can share personal details about myself. I can even share things that felt vulnerable at the time. Heck, I've written blogs that I promoted as "vulnerable." But here's the cache:

Vulnerability is not about what you are saying, it's about the state of being that you are in. 

I can speak "vulnerable," without being vulnerable. Not to brag, but I think I'm pretty good at it. I know the art of faking vulnerability with my words without ever engaging my heart.

Vulnerability is looking you in the eyes and allowing a chink in the armor of my heart. It is bringing all of myself to the table to sit down and talk. It is a choice to trust. To be exposed. And to risk the look on your face and the tone in your voice when you see me. Really see me.

Disclaimer: Before you get excited about this post being "vulnerable" I want to tell you upfront that the most sensitive parts of me and this process will not be broadcasted on the internet. But I do want to share a piece of, you know, the less-authentically-vulnerable version. 
(Later, we can talk about why I believe blogging, texting, emailing, etc. is a near impossible way to be vulnerable anyway).

Back to the blog post.

I think I grew up too fast. 

There is a good chance you might have too.

Childhood can be stolen away too early by a great number of events: broken families, medical crisis, abuse, neglect, loss of a loved one, a major move, etc. Most things could be summed up in one word: Trauma. And newsflash, if you are reading this as a human on planet earth, you've experienced trauma.

Even the most ideal of transitions to adulthood is still quite jarring. For most of us, when we are young there are many things of which we are blissfully unaware and unconcerned. As we approach adulthood, it's as if the blinders come off and the world is suddenly, horrifyingly, not what it seemed. Even many children who experience trauma seem to wear rose colored glasses (or a full-on blindfold) to cope until they reach an age where they are able to digest the full implications of their experience. I believe this is a God-designed mercy.

Not everything about growing up is bad or painful. In fact, becoming an adult has a vast array of privileges. But...I'm not writing to talk about the joys of becoming an adult. I'm writing because something sad happened in my process and I want healing. Maybe you do too.

I'm learning that problem was not actually growing up little Joanna. 
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It was leaving behind little Joanna.
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(I imagine that the mature and sophisticated crew just closed their browser to find more sensible reading material).

Here's the part that is sorta-vulnerable...

I was a really happy kid. I loved life, loved people, LOVED animals. Any disruption to my happy world triggered the use of my creative tool-box of child-like coping skills (AKA: strategies to pretend the disruption doesn't exist).

As I approached adulthood, my pretend-away-problems method started to breakdown. Cue shock, horror, devastation, etc. And instead of helping my young self grow up (which is not really possible to do when you are said young self), I resented myself for being just that: young, vulnerable, trusting, happy, etc.

I was angry with the little girl for laughing without fear.
I was angry with the little girl for dancing freely.
I was angry with the little girl for believing that the world was a safe place.
I was angry with the little girl for the stories she told herself to cover up reality.
I was angry with the little girl for trusting people with her tender heart.

So instead of helping her grow, I locked her away. Somewhere deep inside my heart there is a door to a room where the most vulnerable parts live and that is her home.

I thought that if I ignored her long enough she would wither away, disappear, or die.

But she's still there.
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"Child."

He was subtle, but clear.

"I was there."

Unwanted images flashed through my mind, sensations in my body, and emotions flooding.

That's not me. 

I could picture her, but it's almost as if my brain refused to acknowledge that it was a younger version of me. I felt a wave of disgust and knew that I had rejected this little girl. Though I would never say it to any other little girl, I wanted to call this one trash, worthless, hateful. And I wanted to forget.

"Child."

Please don't see me. 

"I was there. I am here."
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She stood at her bedroom window and stared at the grey clouds outside. She was so angry she could hardly contain it within her skin. She pounded a small fist on the dresser.

If You really exist, You need to prove it right now or I WON'T believe in You.
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"Child, I was there."

Even though I have tried to abandon the child that I was, God has refused to abandon me. Even the most vulnerable parts of me that I locked deep in that room inside my heart.
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This is wrecking me.
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He is taking me on a journey in this season, one that I have kicked and screamed and fought against.

He is showing me how to unlock that door and invite the child He created to come out into the sunlight again. As painful as this is, I find myself feeling and experiences angles of life that I haven't in a very long time. I find myself packing up my camp in the land of denial so that I can stake my tent in the land of those who are truly living with their whole heart.

I cannot undo the trauma and the choices that carried me far away from that little girl. I will forever bear the scars of humanity and an understanding of evil that was not in my original blueprint. But someone else chose to share scars with me so that I can experience healing.

And He was there when mine were formed. 

He is the only one who can say to the little girl who once trusted so easily, without fear,

"come out, come closer
it's ok to trust again
but you need to let Me keep you safe
and you need to let Me carry the pain
instead of pretending it away
the tenderness of your heart is not wrong
it is a piece of My own
so laugh, dance, grieve
and if you must, be afraid
but do not run back into the room to hide
for you belong in My arms, child."

It's exactly what she needs to hear.

So, I'm awkwardly, sorta, (and sometimes not) doing this state of being called "vulnerability."

It's looking Him in the eyes and allowing a chink in the armor of my heart. It is bringing all of myself to the table to sit down and talk. It is a choice to trust. To be exposed. And to risk the look on His face and the tone in His voice when He sees me.

Really sees me. 

And then, I suppose, I might be able to let you see me too.