I’m Sorry (But Should I Be)?
As a kid, I had my share of permission notes. They applied to any school absence, due to illness, doctor’s appointments, or family emergencies. They always stated, “Please Excuse Sheryle…”
I learned, early on, through these innocent permission notes, to believe I was wrong and needed to apologize for being myself.
I learned to over-apologize.
I learned- I internalized- some faulty core beliefs, beliefs that necessitated constant apologies. Things like…
It’s wrong that I exist. (Therefore, I need to apologize).
Right out of the gate, I absorbed the lie that my occupancy on the planet was wrong.
Bad. Sinful. Requiring profuse apologies, because look at me!
Look at how wrong I am! In the vast history of all wrong-ness, I, surely, was the most wrong that a person could EVER be!
My family of origin, however unintentional, communicated to me messages of inconvenience. I was an inconvenience, ergo, I was wrong and bad. I needed to say I was wholeheartedly sorry for being myself. I wasn’t directly told I was wrong or bad. It was more subtle than that. It was the disapproving cues of frustrated sighs, eye rolls, awkward silences.
Sometimes, yes, I was screamed at. Sometimes, I was ignored and neglected. It wasn’t necessarily about any one event; rather; it was cumulative, as most of these powerful, transformative situations are. It was the constant dripping of unworthy statements on my psyche’s forehead that gradually built the strong, Fort Knox argument of my defective place in the world, of how I was never right.
And therefore, when you are wrong, what are you supposed to do?
Apologize.
The tricky thing was, I bought the lie that I was NEVER right, only ALWAYS wrong. Words- and their powerful connotations like “Always” and “Never” are inaccurate, harmful troublemakers to our self-esteem issues, no matter who we are as human beings.
Perhaps you’ve heard the expression, “Separate your ‘Who’ from your ‘Do.’”
That gets right to the root of the issue. We would probably do well to take that concept into consideration, especially the next time we are tempted to self-eviscerate because of our personal feelings of worthlessness.
Who we are and what we do are not the same thing.
Therefore, we, as human beings do not need to apologize for our existence. Contrary to what many of us may have been told, due to unhealthy relationships or dynamics, we are worth taking up space in this world.
We are here for significant reasons. You and I matter.
However, that truth often gets lost in the lie of another person.
And so…
I’m unacceptable because of another person’s pain. (Therefore, I need to apologize).
We get scapegoated and blamed not because of who we are, but rather, because of someone else’s determination and definition on who they say we are. If they say we are something, like we are wrong, bad, unacceptable, sinful, a mistake, etcetera, and we believe that to be true about ourselves, it can make things much more convenient and easier for the abusive individual to escape personal responsibility for their actions.
In short, we take the blame for another person’s misery, disappointment, and failings.
Being exposed to this toxic dynamic can, over time, convince us there is no excuse for our existence. Because we could not perfectly anticipate, meet, and fulfill someone else expectations or soothe their pain, we are unacceptable. We need to apologize for who we are, not just for what we did or did not do.
This harmful setup is not about us. It is not about what did or did not happen. It is about the need for us to be wrong and worthy of blame. We become the scapegoat. Another’s person’s designation and mandate that we are, indeed, to blame for any situation soon becomes internalized.
We take over blaming ourselves.
Now we are the punishing taskmaster.
I don’t know what else to say for myself. (Therefore, I need to apologize).
Cat got your tongue?
Well, maybe the culprit isn’t a feline. Maybe it is our abuser who has not only conditioned us to be powerless, but voiceless, as well.
For those of us involved in abuse, speaking up for ourselves is a cardinal sin, something we dare not do, let the wrath of the toxic person be unleashed in our lives, endangering us for our audacity.
We are forbidden to speak contrary to our abuser’s allowance. And, of course, the word, “no” is at the top of that forbidden list of responses.
What is permitted for us to say?
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s my fault.”
“I’m wrong.”
“I’m bad.”
There is no negotiating.
So, we can often reach the conclusion that we have nothing else to say, apart from those few limited statements. And this dovetails into the next faulty lie we believe…
If I apologize, I’ll be safe. (Therefore, I need to apologize).
Like praying a child’s prayer or chanting a soothing chant, we can, somehow, believe that simply obeying and apologizing, we will be rendered safe and sound.
Of course, it doesn’t quite work like that. We aren’t kept safe by these verbal forcefields. You and I are not kept safe by any action we take. It will not be perceived by our abuser as “good enough.” Over time, the intensity of this message takes its toll on us. The bombarding message chips away at us further, with no relenting from our abuser each time we utter our apologies.
So, we often try harder.
Perfectionism, desperate striving, and overachieving are some of the means, we reason, will save us. These things, somehow, will magically make us “good enough.”
Oftentimes, however, we are shattered to realize that it makes no difference.
No matter what, we are wrong. We are to blame. We are inexcusable.
And we are not safe. We feel vulnerable, shaking in front of a firing squad that doesn’t stop shooting at us.
There is something wrong with me. (Therefore, I need to apologize).
This is the overarching belief that infects all other faulty and harmful thoughts; something is irrefutably wrong with us, it cannot be denied or changed.
We are the problem, not any other person, abusers included.
And so, we need to apologize. To anyone. To everyone. For anything and everything remotely connected to us.
It is a disease that ravages our sense of self, largely because we believe we have no self, nor any right to self. Why? Because we are wrong. That lie that we wholeheartedly believe goes as deep as to assert that we are defective.
Nothing can or will change that. Give up all hope it can or it will.
Part of why this can be so devastating is that this “wrong-ness” infiltrates all aspects to who we fundamentally are as individuals. Personality. Value systems. Physical appearance. Goals. Efforts. Sexuality. Even birth order and gender. We make the sweeping assertion, somehow, that all is wrong. There is, indeed, nothing right about us. No matter where we turn, our destiny is wrong.
With that certainty firmly in place and governing our daily existence, what chance do you are I truly have at achieving a happy and fulfilling life?
It looks quite bleak, doesn’t it?
The “Who From the “Do:”
This discernment challenge is a daily practice. We need to separate our inherent being from our real- life activity of doing.
For those of us who have not had the luxury of living an existence filled with unconditional love and acceptance, this can be quite the hard task. We don’t know what unconditional love and acceptance feels like. We don’t know a reality that does not include unrealistic expectations, harshness, rejection, perfectionistic standards, and disproportionate responses, such as anger.
Other harmful individuals may have convinced us we weren’t safe and worthwhile unless and until we conformed to them. We learned we needed to give in. We needed to stop being ourselves and start being the vague definition and image of who they wanted us to be.
And here’s a secret: they already, somehow, determined we would fail at that mission.
So, who and do were one and the same for us. The was no differentiation; there was no separation. There was no grey area, whatsoever. Just unforgiving, unrelenting, black and white.
Therefore, we need to give ourselves the permission to live in the grey, daily. We need to remind ourselves we already have inherent worth. Our existence is more than enough evidence of that. We are here for a number of important, legitimate reasons, even if we don’t know what they are just yet.
And while we are waiting for answers, we are worthwhile. And we have stuff to do.
Enter, then, the second part of the challenging assignment; we need to let ourselves of the hook, in all of our doing.
So, perhaps, here’s a friendly little equation we would do well to keep in mind and apply often:
Our inherently worthy, imperfect human selves plus our worthwhile and imperfect deeds equals our valuable lives.
Indeed, we are inherently worthy, as individuals. But that doesn’t mean we have nothing to offer, action-wise.
On the contrary, in fact.
Therefore, each day, as we go about our lives, it’s important to remember our inherent being, that nothing and no one can change or diminish, AND our inherent power to contribute, even if that contribution is imperfect. Nothing about us is worth negating. Nothing.
We do not need to be excused for our existence. We need to be celebrated for it.
If no one, therefore, has celebrated you for you, then, please, let me be the first.
I’m so glad you are here!
Copyright © 2023 by Sheryle Cruse
You Did Your Part
It still stings when I recall the words.
“You Did Your Part.”
Minimizing.
Negating.
Condescending.
Patronizing.
Abusive.
Maybe you have heard the exact same thing, or, at least, a similar sentiment to those words.
“You Did Your Part.”
For those of us recovering from abuse, it’s inevitable we will come across someone who downplays what we have gone through. They will excuse it, give reasons why it happened, or encourage us to be good little soldiers, tough it out, and see ourselves as team players, rather than as targets of abuse.
“You Did Your Part.”
Those are some loaded words.
And there was more sub-text hidden in them. What was really meant was more like this…
You protected your family/job/organization/church/school and their image. (Good job!)
How many of us learn that family or business allegiance is more important than an individual’s well-being? “For the greater good,” as they say, right?
Many of us are trained, conditioned, and groomed to believe that the thing, the organization, the structure, the job, the family, the image is far more valuable than any of the members it contains. We are instructed to keep the peace, to “go along to get along,” to lie, to do whatever is necessary to keep this organism alive and thriving. Morals, ethics, relationships, marriages, personal health, and safety be damned! Just make sure “the collective body” is viewed in a positive light. That is the priority. And it is non-negotiable.
You were silent; you didn’t use you voice. (Good job!)
Silence is the mandate. It is golden. Loose lips sink ships, and all that.
How many of us, in a toxic structure, like family or a job situation, were rewarded, or, at the very least, not punished, for zipping our lips? We learn that silence is expected of us; it is our duty. Loyalty. Who are we to challenge the greater authority, and its accompanying image? Just who do we think we are, after all?
So, we muffle our voices. We see something is wrong. We feel something is wrong. We know something is wrong.
But silence. It becomes the necessary air we must breathe. Why must we breathe it?
Because suffocation, a/k/a “or else” punishment.
That can be things like, but not limited to, estrangement from family members, loss of a job, our kids or pets taken away from us, financial support is withdrawn from our lives, violence comes in our direction, guilt, we’re made to feel we are the wrong, awful, dysfunctional and, of course, we are told we are the problem. Everyone else has no issue with how things are going.
What is wrong with us, anyway? Why can’t we just do our part, like good little boys and girls?
You enabled the abuse to keep happening in some way. (Good job!)
Go along to get along. Most of us have done it. In the short-term, it’s just easier to go with the flow, to not make waves, than to confront the harmful or dysfunctional behavior. And, in some cases, especially abusive situations, it’s dangerous for us to do that. We could get ourselves killed for doing that.
So, we enable. We make excuses. We lie. We cover up. We hurt ourselves trying to get and keep things perfectly in order, to avoid wrath and mayhem.
All the while, however, we are tortured because we “let something happen.” Perhaps, we feel we stood by while someone was sexually abused, lost their job, exploited a situation, or lied. Recrimination can engulf us.
“I should have done more.”
“I should have stopped it.”
But we didn’t; many times, we couldn’t.
If we were stripped powerless, in example, we were the abused children or spouse of our tormenter, what, really could we have done? We were surrounded by trap doors.
Status quo, routine, power, perfection, and an aesthetically pleasing image are all things that are of the utmost importance to abusive and dysfunctional people. They tend to not like their perfect little delusional world disrupted, in any way. Yet, they have no thought or issue, whatsoever, with disrupting ours, for their sakes. In their minds, they may think, “That is to be expected. Of course, they would do this for me, for the family, for the business, for the team, etcetera…”
You self-abandoned. (Not just a good job here, but a GREAT job! Atta Boy! Atta Girl!)
This can be the most painful, unexpressed message “You did your part” can represent to us.
It is about betraying the self, whether that is a one-time event, a frequent reality, or the daily norm. We become the sacrificial lamb, the scapegoat, the person who “takes one for the team,” the selfless savior whose response is “for the greater good.” Perhaps, no one, outright, asked you and I do this, but it is always, somehow, understood that we would fall in line.
Of course we would do this because 1) we supposedly have no issue or problem in doing so, 2) we love someone or something so much, that it is not a chore to sacrifice ourselves, 3) we “owe” it to whatever person, family, job, organization or toxic system to offer our devoted duty, and 4) we understand, and it is agreed upon widely, that we have no right to our own lives. It is agreed upon our purpose is to serve “other,” not explore and live our own lives, in and of themselves.
This is, perhaps, the most damaging subtext of “You did your part.” It negates you and I completely. We are not the unique individuals; we are simply a tool to be used at another’s discretion. Therefore, we believe we need to endure abuse, mistreatment, exploitation, lack of love, dignity, honesty, joy and personal needs, goals, and dreams because, somehow, someone else’s determination tells us that is “the right thing to do.”
“Doing our part” is the “right” thing to do. Living our lives, apart from that mandate, therefore, is the absolute “wrong” thing to do. It is tantamount, sometimes, to the worst possible sin, choice, result, and worst-case scenario that could ever exist in all of mankind. It can be sold as that extreme, black and white thinking, all to shame, manipulate, and control us. It certainly is not done for our benefit. The most we could hope for, within this context, is to be an afterthought.
Again, it is about “other,” the all-important “other,” too valuable to not be loved, worshipped, obeyed, sacrificed for and self-abandoned for.
How dare we challenge this universal truth! How dare we turn heretic, become a Judas, and become someone who invokes mutiny and treason?
What IS Our Part, Anyway?
This is the maddening question we ask ourselves. Many of us feel like we’re walking a tightrope between love and abuse, kindness and exploitation, showing compassion and being manipulated, doing what’s needed and doing what’s best and healthiest. Many of us fall off the tightrope in the process.
Perhaps, the short answer lies in our gut response in the moment of expectation and pressure to tow the line.
How do we feel? Are we happy to do something? Joyful? Excited?
Or do we feel obligated, afraid, drained, invisible, and resentful?
Would we be comprising our personal values, morals, and integrity?
If we are conflicted or soured about what is being asked of us, it’s generally a good indicator that it is not good for us.
That’s a hard pill to swallow. Ask yourself the question, “Is this good for me?” Have a person or a situation in mind when you ask the question? What’s your first answer: yes or no?
Don’t get mired in story, history, or explanation. Is this something you want to do?
We can squirm at the prospect of thinking it’s not valid enough of a reason to have it come down to something like, “I don’t want to do it.” We can rationalize that life has lots of things we don’t want to do, but we do them in the name of being responsible adults.
But this is not that.
Doing tedious, menial tasks, like taking out the garbage or doing the laundry, typically, don’t throw into question, “am I a horrible, weak person?” There’s usually no shame attached to the chores of everyday life.
And there’s generally no sense of powerlessness or helplessness, either. No warring mixed emotions, no terror, no soul-crushing guilt. We just do the unpleasant task and move on.
“You did your part,” however, almost always has a nagging, trapped, confused, and compromising quality to it. We come away from it feeling worse, not better, about ourselves in the process.
And that’s the red alert; that’s the deal breaker.
We need to do our part, to honor and respect ourselves, and heed that. We need to take care of ourselves. We are worth doing so.
Copyright © 2023 by Sheryle Cruse
Go Ahead, Wild Thing…
Go Ahead, Wild Thing, Feel Sorry For Yourself!
Self-Pity gets a bad rap, doesn’t it? We are discouraged and shamed for participating in it. We are made to feel guilty, self-indulgent, selfish, and wrong if we feel sorry for ourselves. This culture, in particular, emphasizes independence, grit, and pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. If we don’t…or can’t, we are often viewed as weak and the embodiment of personal failure.
Pretty bleak, huh?
Cue D.H. Lawrence for still further feel-good edification…
"I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself."
Great, now we’re talking about death as the alternative to self-pity. Sounds like a winning approach.
I love D.H. Lawrence’s poem, “Self-Pity.” Like any good Type A, perfectionist people pleaser, I wanted to improve. I wanted to do better in life. And part of that plan involved attempting to adapt this poem to my life. Struggles, and I had a lot of them, could, somehow, be overcome if only I could subdue all expression of self-pity.
Sounds really doable, doesn’t it?
Yeah.
So, I tried to master the poem in this vehicle called my life. I wanted mastery. I wanted to be bulletproof. I wanted to be immune to hurt.
Also doable…and so realistic.
Terminal Uniqueness (I am the Only One Suffering):
"I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself…”
It’s only happening to me. No one else.
I saw that in the abuse I survived. I saw that in my eating disorder behaviors. I saw that as I went through my breast cancer paces. I am alone.
Only, as I silently said those words to myself, I didn’t fully realize, at the time, what I really meant was, “I am ashamed.” The shame of going through whatever I was going though hijacked the “aloneness” of my situation.
Where did the shame come from? Well, childhood conditioning played a significant role. But I became my own jailer from there.
I was ashamed, and perhaps, too myopic in it to see that that there have been countless others, throughout history, who have have similar experiences to mine. I was not the only one. And that triggered a special shame of “how dare I be miserable and feel sorry for myself” with that fact in place? It was kind of the equivalent of “Clear your plate. There are people in Africa starving.”
And the shame equivalent feels like it smacks that of “You should not be okay with yourself unless and until everyone else is okay and has all of their needs met FIRST!”
Big, big sigh exhaled here. Around and around I went.
And I wanted to be the poem’s “wild thing.” I wanted to be the strong creature, valiantly enduring even with a hurricane’s wind whipping in my face.
Doesn’t it sound romantic? Brave? Inspiring?
I could just muster up feeling like it was “windy” instead.
An “And” World:
Terminal uniqueness. Shame. Shame about the shame.
Come on. You’ve been there with that in your life. We are not immune from suffering these slings and arrows. And there’s the key word in that Shakespearean phrase, a little, itty-bitty word, in fact: “and.”
“And” covers any struggle or pain; “and” covers feeling sorry for ourselves.
You and I are unique human beings AND the life experiences we deal with and suffer through are not solely, entirely unique to us. Someone else, right now, is going, or has gone through what we are experiencing.
“I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.”
Ecclesiastes 9:11
Just because we have shared like human experiences does not disqualify our inherent preciousness and our ability to be strong or courageous. It is not a case of one or the other. It’s both. At the same time.
“And.”
So, go ahead, Wild Thing. Grant yourself permission to feel sorry for yourself in whatever challenging life circumstance you are facing. And, while you’re doing so, please remember you are strong; you are brave. This is tough stuff, whatever it is for you.
You are too valuable of a creature; honor that, even with the painful struggle. You are worth it.
Unhealthy Instead of Pity:
“…A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough…”
Ah, yes. It’s inevitable in this classic poem. We introduce the concept of death. And it only took the second line of the poem to get there. Fun.
Years ago, when I first encountered “Self-Pity” by D. H. Lawrence, I was struck by the stoicism of our little feathered friend. I romanticized it and I idealized it. I was also no stranger to “near death” as well. Everything from almost dying as an infant, to suicidal thoughts, to emaciation from anorexia. And this was WAAAAY before my breast cancer diagnosis.
And I had been repeatedly told- shamed- that what I was going through “wasn’t that bad.” Yeah, sure, I almost lost my life a few times, but, hey, it could have been so much worse. I made a mountain out of my circumstances when I should have taken a cue from “small bird” here to, instead, drop dead, frozen from my bow, and make that sucker a mole hill already!
What WAS my problem, anyway?
I had a severe case of turning to the unhealthy instead of the sorrowful pity of my reality. I chose to berate myself instead of love myself. I made the death of a frozen bird my answer to my pain and my life.
That’s a dangerous thing to do to any of us who are more on the results/achievement-oriented side of things. It’s dangerous because it removes all grace, all humanity, all wiggle room to make mistakes. Hell, in my case, I didn’t even want to be me? I wanted to be a bird, a frozen dead bird?
Something’s screwy with that notion.
Stay Thawed Out:
As much as it pained me to realize, going through all of my “near-death” situations, I was more valuable dead than alive. I give you an excerpt from Neil Gaiman’s “The Graveyard Book:”
“…‘They are for the most part, done with the world. You are not. You are alive… that means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you can change the world, the world will change. Potential. Once you’re dead, it’s gone. Over. you’ve made what you’ve made, dreamed what you’ve dreamed, written your name. you may be buried here, you may even walk. But the potential is finished.’”
Go ahead, Wild Thing, keep your blood flowing, your heart beating. It is not time for you to go yet. Even if it feels like it is.
Part of us staying thawed out is being messy, upset, unkempt,but, nonetheless, we are still tweeting on a branch somewhere. Even if it’s a pathetic, near silent tweet, we have a voice and we have a life and, as long as we keep living, we have the opportunity to use it.
Use it, Wild Thing! Don’t die frozen.
Only Perfect is Acceptable:
“…without ever having felt sorry for itself."
Line three: perfectionistic expectation.
You can imagine how little old me ran amuck with this concept.
It’s an impossible standard to set, uphold, and accept.
“Suck it up.”
“No pain, no gain.”
“Pain is temporary. Pride is forever.”
“Go hard or go home.”
Ever encounter these phrases? They can often be found in high school locker rooms. I have seen my fair share of banners made by the Varsity cheerleaders.
Well, of course, I added Lawrence’s poem to that collection. But I did more that that. I convinced myself of the lie that EVERYONE ELSE was completely, thoroughly, and perfectly executing it, while advancing to such extraordinary results in their own lives. Success! EVERYONE ELSE was achieving it, repeatedly, daily, with the best attitude, and a pleasing smile on their faces. I was the only loser who was failing constantly, because I wasn’t tough, strong, cheerful, or disciplined enough to achieve those exact same results.
(Oh, and by the way, “those exact same results” were always an ever-moving target. And here was an extra fun fact: I was the major person doing most of that moving!)
Everyone’s Flailing and NONE of It is Perfect OR Pretty:
So, go ahead, Wild Thing. Flap those wingers and flail spectacularly!
Once again, there seems to be this unrealistic expectation and pressure placed upon us to not only do incredible feats perfectly, but also do them with the most wonderful smiling attititude that ever existed on Planet Earth.
Be that perfect little birdy.
I couldn’t do that. I could do ugly, embarrassing, ridiculous, pathetic, messy, undignified, and sorrowful, but I couldn’t swing perfect little birdy.
Perhaps, a good illustration of that reality was when I was violently bulimic, dumpster diving just outside of my college apartment. I was not stoic as I dumpster dove; I was desperate. I was in despair. I choked back tears as I rummaged for half-eaten pizza crusts.
“…without ever having felt sorry for itself."
Nope. I was despairing the entire time. I felt I was only a weak failure.
Years have gone by since that time. And I now see that I needed to be in that dark place and, yes, feel sorry for myself. It’s probably not a popular thing to say, but, had it not been for that big time “bottom” experience, there would be no book I wrote about it later on. There would be none of the life I experience now. It’s cliché, but life is often that. The lesson comes, many times, after you and I have disgraced ourselves, after we have been disgusting and filthy.
Perhaps there can be no true cleanup if you and I were never dirty in the first place.
We need to remember not to buy the lie that stoicism is constantly, perfectly achieved by the entire humanity, that it is the only way toward success, answers, happiness, love, and life’s meaning. It is not.
Sometimes, we find the answers, the help, the heart’s desires as we are the exact antithesis to “Self-Pity.” Fraility, vulnerability, and humility serve us much more than the hardened stiff upper lip. Don’t equate stoic with strong. Strength shows up looking like its exact opposite, more often than not.
You are already the Wild Thing. You have nothing to prove.
You are strongly weathering your life right now, feelings aside. We need only look to the pandemic to see how we all are enduring some harrowing events and issues. You and I are doing so, right now, while also, yes, often feeling sorry for ourselves. Don’t underestimate its power. We are, via the vehicle of this misery moving closer to who we are meant to be, and to the lives we are meant to live.
Wild Thing, be assured, that is a wild and incredible thing!
Copyright © 2023 by Sheryle Cruse
Go Ahead, Wild Thing, Feel Sorry For Yourself! | elephant journal
Our Inner Janis
The anguish. The yearning plea. The bluesy voice. The wildness. The raw truth that, not only commanded you see and hear her, but also that you tap into your own heartache, using her voice as the driving vehicle.
Janis Joplin. Most of us have seen and heard her in the pop culture landscape. She is a staple figure of the “27 Club,” amongst those musicians, like Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Amy Winehouse, and Jimi Hendrix, who all died at the young age of twenty-seven. They succumbed much too soon, due to personal struggles with drugs, alcohol, depression, and mental illness. She is in that roster.
And her music. A white girl screeching the blues, yanking at the agony of love, unhealthy relationships, and despair-filled longing.
You know, part of the human experience.
I love Janis. Despite my vocal shortcomings, I have belted out her stuff, a coping strategy to deal with exorcising the demons of this thing called life. I try not to make dogs and wolves, alike, howl in neighboring states. But, yes, Janis is a necessity in tapping into and releasing pain for me. I identify with her. For good reason. I don’t have anything really in common with her, at first glance, except our shared middle name.
Janis Lyn Joplin.
And, initially, I thought that was the end of the similarities. That was, until I learned more about her. And I could, again, identify with her, beyond just a shared middle name.
I suspect you can also tap into your Inner Janis as well.
Invisible Beginnings:
Clichés are clichés for a reason.
We are familiar with the common trope. A famous person starts out with humble beginnings. Poverty, abuse, a lack of love, and neglect are all a part of that story.
“‘Truly I tell you,’ he continued, ‘no prophet is accepted in his hometown.’”
Luke 4:24
Yep, we, your community, do not see you.
Janis was born and raised in Port Arthur, Texas. And, not surprisingly, she did not fit in. Appearance, popularity, and talent were not appreciated as she grew into a teenager. She did not look like or express herself, “like everyone else.”
Just like you and me, perhaps?
The Invisible Prophet:
Maybe part of why we adore celebrities, like rock stars, is because we see, in them, us, as the misfit. We’ve encountered enough stories, fact and fiction, which have featured the loner outcast, the individual who just didn’t fit in.
Was that you? And, if so, how was that you?
I think, for a lot of us out there, a part of that answer can be found in the Narcissistically abusive systems we live in. Culprits include the family of origin, public or private school experiences, and houses of worship are all heavy hitters. How much more so if we are dwelling in a small and/or rural town, like I did?
Regardless, things like physical appearance, self-expression, sexuality, and financial status are just a few “reasons” that seem to make us targets of rejection.
There seems to be an “us versus other” mentality which asserts that anyone who appears to be different from the rest of the herd is to be ostracized.
And, let’s face it, if you are reading these words, you probably see yourself in the “other” category.
Just like Janis.
Rebellion and/Persecution:
Hello, to all the black sheep and scapegoats out there! Let’s all bleat together!
“‘Truly I tell you,’ he continued, ‘no prophet is accepted in his hometown.’”
Luke 4:24
As a youth, Janis Joplin was ostracized and bullied. Because of, and despite this, she explored her musical abilities and interests. She went to blues clubs, just across the state line.
After graduating high school, she attended art school in Austin, Texas and began performing her music in small clubs. Eventually, Janis moved to San Francisco during the 1960s Haight Asbury hippie movement. Janis flourished with that move.
This was a form of rebellion on her part, while simultaneously tapping into her voice in the process. Janis Joplin was not viewed as a beautiful girl, a Southern belle, or a debutante. She did not “fit.” She was, perhaps, too loud, too aggressive, too sexual, too weird. She wasn’t traditional, conservative, or quiet. She was a screaming banshee. She challenged authority.
In time, the world would celebrate that. But not in this time and place. Each step of the way, she was met with criticism, judgment, and scorn. She may have projected a scrappy “tough girl” attitude, but it hurt her in a way that it hurts any of us when we are told we don’t measure up.
The Rebellious/Persecuted Prophet:
Indeed, if, day after day, the message we receive is “you don’t fit; you are wrong,” we are being persecuted. And it’s now gone global, with cyber bullying and stalking ratcheting a threat level beyond name calling.
So, within that hostile environment, we, like Janis, are presented with a choice to fight back, to rebel, or not. Most of us, on some level, choose to fight back and rebel. It can be with belligerence and fist fights. It can also be with our deliberate decision to create and express. Enter: art.
Like Janis Joplin, many of us have found solace, identity, purpose, and meaning via this avenue. We create, therefore, we are.
We can resemble Janis Joplin, even if we cannot carry a tune in a bucket. We can express ourselves, and we should not feel stifled for doing so.
Rejection:
“‘Truly I tell you,’ he continued, ‘no prophet is accepted in his hometown.’”
Luke 4:24
Janis Joplin was not accepted in her hometown. Blame it on the Southern mentality, the Bible Belt, a lack of diversity in her community, or any other possible explanation under the sun, it still didn’t change her reality. Janis was rejected.
Attending art school in Austin, Texas would, unfortunately repeat that experience for her.
According to one documentary I caught on the rock icon, while attending that Austin art school, each year, the fraternities would sponsor a festival on campus. And one of the activities was the “Ugly Man” award. People could nominate anyone who they believed should get that distinction.
(You know what happened next).
Someone nominated Janis… and she won.
This devastated her; she cried upon hearing the news.
The Rejected Prophet:
“‘Truly I tell you,’ he continued, ‘no prophet is accepted in his hometown.’”
Luke 4:24
I know we don’t want to hear this but getting bullied and persecuted in our hometowns does not inoculate us from repeating that experience later on, in different settings. As much as we may want the happily ever after swan transformation, unfortunately, reality plays more of a harsh game.
We can take our rejected experiences and even our internalized rejected states of being with us, wherever we go. No, we are not to blame for being bullied. But nothing about life makes a point of checking in with our past life experiences, asking our permission to do or not do something. And it certainly doesn’t honor any kind of mistreatment quota.
“But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.”
Matthew 5:44-45
Yeah, I know. That is just a mistreated bridge too far.
And if the Bible is too much for us to handle, let’s reduce it down to this: life happens to everyone.
It would be great if we could get some free passes from pain, all while we’re growing, discovering, and becoming who we are. But we don’t get that immunity. Janis may have left her stifling hometown, but she did not leave the rejection spirit some people possessed and decided to exert on others. We encounter similar situations. It may be personal; it may be random. It could have evil intent, or it could simply be something someone does because they are bored. We don’t know why people choose to reject us. We only know we have been rejected, mistreated, and hurt.
I am inclined to believe the evidence of greatness resides in the presence of persecution, not in its absence.
Therefore, my persecuted friend, you are, indeed, having a brush with Janis Joplin in this regard.
And more to the point, you, indeed, are having a brush with greatness in your own right.
Love Search:
“‘Truly I tell you,’ he continued, ‘no prophet is accepted in his hometown.’”
Luke 4:24
It should come as no surprise Janis Joplin was seeking love.
After feeling like a misfit, unappreciated by both her family and her hometown, of course, it would be a given that Janis would be in search of love.
As I watched documentaries on her, one of her close personal friends made a heartbreaking statement about the singer…
“She would be with second rate people if they would love her.”
Ouch.
Janis was not lucky in love, as they say. She was involved, reportedly, with both men and women, including Country Joe McDonald, Kris Kristofferson, and Jae Whitaker. Supposedly, she was even engaged, at the time of her death in 1970, to Seth Morgan.
Listen to “Ball and Chain,” “Piece of My Heart,” and “Me and Bobby McGee.” You hear the struggle, don’t you?
Adding still more heartbreaking struggle to Joplin’s life, was her search to be loved by, yet again, her family and her hometown.
In a 1970 appearance on The Dick Cavett Show, Janis enthusiastically spoke of her plans to attend her upcoming tenth high school reunion. Cavett asked her if she had been popular in school. She responded that her peers "laughed me out of class, out of town and out of the state"[
So, naturally, she, the misfit and the loner, was relishing this reunion as an opportunity to come back the triumphant heroine and probably strut her stuff and rub her persecutors’ noses in it. This was her revenge/justice moment.
Dick Cavett: “Do you think you’ll have a lot to say to your classmates?”
Janis cackled, “I’m gonna laugh a lot, man.”
Unfortunately, that apparently did not happen. Those close to her reported that, while Joplin did return home for that milestone event, again, she was treated as the outsider. The reality did not match her revenge fantasy. She was further rejected, by both her community, and by her own family members. They were upset at her for speaking so ill of the hometown.
Janis Joplin was, once again, heartbroken, disappointed, and in need of love.
The Love-Starved Prophet:
“‘Truly I tell you,’ he continued, ‘no prophet is accepted in his hometown.’”
Luke 4:24
“She would be with second rate people if they would love her.”
Which statement rings truer for you?
When we have been rejected on a macro or a micro level, we can tend to make it our mission to obtain love: to prove them all wrong, to get revenge, and simply, to be loved because that has been the gaping unmet need screaming to be realized. Human beings need to love and be loved. When that does not happen, we try to self-soothe, cope, and seek, if not love directly, then, at least, some love substitute.
And here’s where many of us can turn to alcohol, drugs, food, spending, sex, as well as to a full range of desperate and toxic relationships and behaviors. We just want to get this love need met, any way we can.
Rejection has created the hole. We just want it filled.
Stardom:
“‘Truly I tell you,’ he continued, ‘no prophet is accepted in his hometown.’”
Luke 4:24
Despite rejection from her humble upbringing, Janis Joplin has left a legacy. Her music endures to this day. Artists like Melissa Ethridge, Stevie Nicks, Pink, and Florence Welch have all been influenced and inspired by the singer. And you can see it in their performances. Tough, strong rebellious women, who were also vulnerable, affected by love, and had powerful things to say.
I don’t know to what extent Janis truly sought and desired fame. I suspect she, like most of us out there, wanted to be loved, valued, seen, and unheard, as the individual she was. Janis was a “prophet,” in that she signaled what was yet to come in music and in feminism.
Did she know she was doing all of that at the time? Probably not.
The Star Prophet:
So, let’s turn it around onto you.
Are you a star? What does that definition look like?
Before you disqualify yourself, listing things like not enough fame, achievement, money, or status to back it up, imagine you already are a star. Right now. As is. Can you do that?
If you’ve been rejected in your family, your hometown, your country, or your religion, just to name a few outlets of acceptance-seeking, you are part of an elite club. The fighters. The survivors. The artists. The changemakers. The people who move the needle, however so slightly, or seemingly, insignificantly. Nevertheless, the needle is moved. The change is made.
That is you. With or without Janis Joplin and her example.
But may her example encourage you, right now, to accept your value and worth. It’s not about resembling and connecting with your “inner Janis.” It’s about connecting with and discovering your own spin on that kindred spirit.
I suspect, in your own unique, flawed, beautiful, rejected, fragile, strong, hurt, individualistic way, you are already there. You are greater than what “they” put you through.
Go be a prophet now!
Copyright © 2023 by Sheryle Cruse
“Our Inner Janis” reminds us of our own superstar natures. | elephant journal
Nice To Meet You?
Nice To Meet You?
I came across this humorous post online:
“Stranger: Nice to meet you.
Me: Give it time.”
I laughed and cringed. I time travelled through my range of dysfunctional relationships, all starting off with one or another version of “nice to meet you.” From being called “the C-Word” from a friend I thought least likely to hear that from, to being insulted while I was simultaneously flirted with and asked out (all because I was being groomed for that treatment by a toxic person), to being stranded at a stranger’s place because a friend didn’t think I appreciated her enough, I have had my fair share of experiences in which I regretted the early “nice to meet you” relationship origins.
And, before I sound too high and mighty, I have also been my own version of a regrettable (and unstable) “nice to meet you” situation myself. I have been “the needy chic,” waiting by the phone, following a guy around constantly. Back in my severely disordered, anorexic days, I was so out of control, I stole, binged on, and threw away my college roommates’ “forbidden” food, all because I couldn’t have that temptation in my presence.
I believe the clinical term for my behavior is “hot mess.”
Seriously, when it comes to “nice to meet you” situations gone awry, I cannot throw stones. I dwell in a glass townhouse with an attached garage.
Concerning these “nice to meet you” situations, why do they sometimes go so badly?
Perhaps it is because…
We operate under the assumption of pleasant:
“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Casablanca
Okay, okay, okay, maybe not every relationship is like Casablanca’s epic-ness, but we generally start off with good intentions, don’t we?
Yes, we often operate under the assumption that this new interaction or relationship will be pleasant. Unless we have been so burned to the point of suspicion and bitterness, typically, when we encounter someone, we give them the benefit of the doubt. We believe this time, this person, this experience will be harmless, innocent, and even great, depending upon, perhaps, positive first impressions, our unmet needs expressing hope that we will be loved, heard, seen, and valued, and, of course, good ole’ naiveté.
We want to believe there is nothing nefarious; there is no hidden agenda or ulterior motive. We want to believe we can trust in the certainty interacting with this person will go well.
And sometimes, it does. And sometimes, it can become more nightmare than realized dream.
So, what’s the game plan going in? Employ realistic expectations… and time. Wait and see. Look at the actions, not just the words. Every cliché, yes.
If we are codependent, in any way, however, that is not second nature to us. We have a tendency to expect the nice to show up.
And that places pressure, not only on the situation or the other person, but on us as well.
Therefore, if we’re not careful, the nice can become hellish, because we are not looking at anything beyond “nice to meet you.”
And we need to look in more than that one direction.
We insist on lasting BFFs.
I once impulse bought two adorable stuffed puppies, joined together, with “BFFs” written on both of their puppy chests.
Those stuffed animals spotlight how much and how often we use that phrase in our culture.
BFFs.
Before it took hold of us the way it has now, it was often written in many yearbooks, high school notebooks, and diaries. There’s much emphasis on females, especially, to pair bond with a certain female who will magically qualify as that “Best Friend Forever.”
And, while it is possible to remain best friends with someone from grade school or high school, most of the time, it is more of a rarity than a common occurrence.
BFFs. It screams “Acquisition,” doesn’t it? Like Pound Puppies, Bratz dolls, or whatever the current toy craze is currently going on now, there seems to be this latching, demanding pressure to “Collect them all!”
The basis of a sound, healthy friendship.
We do seem to hoard when it comes to people. We have more difficulty releasing people which may be toxic. We struggle to realize we have outgrown some individuals. Some “friendships” are not built to last. Some are temporary.
A phrase I have given more thought to over the last few years is this:
“People come into your life for a reason, for a season, or for a lifetime.”
Our task is to determine and accept, which people go with each instance.
And then we need to act accordingly.
People are not to be collected and hoarded. People are meant to be in healthy relationship with one another.
That is much more powerful than the catchy phrase, “BFFS.”
Our immaturity (insecurity) needs to trump time.
It can often come down to one important issue, with a question attached to it.
Gimme: why?
There are many possible theories. Here are mine.
We don’t like to be alone.
Sometimes, we are desperate for connection; we are desperate for relationship. This can go beyond simply wanting to get married right now. It encompasses friendship and companionship.
We want anything… and anyone…anything EXCEPT being alone.
Enter, then, immaturity and insecurity. These factors can often drive us to become greedy and grabby. Like the famous Queen song, “I want it all… and I want it now!”
Come on, admit it, you have been there. Maybe you’re there right now.
Whatever the case may be, the concept of patience is not enjoyable to us. No, no, no! Gimme, instead! I want him! I want her! I want them!
We don’t want to wait, especially if it is for our own good.
We believe the lie that the absolute worst pain we could experience is being alone, without that spouse, lover, friend. But sometimes, aloneness is exactly what we need, accompanied by its buddy, time. Maybe we need to heal. Maybe we need to mature. Maybe it’s not the right time. Maybe, even, nothing about this situation and/or person is right.
Pressuring ourselves and rushing into something (or someone), however, does not provide the lasting fulfillment.
If that’s there, that is a cautionary red flag we would do well to heed.
And spend some alone time with ourselves, apart from everyone and everything else.
We don’t want to get to know ourselves, as ourselves.
With the prospect (or threat, depending upon how you view it) of all of this alone time looming for us, many of us struggle with getting to know ourselves.
Is it truly nice to meet ourselves? Is it?
A lot of us believe happiness is found in someone else. We don’t believe we are capable of making ourselves happy, in our own right.
Other people equal distraction, a/k/a, a reprieve from being left alone with our thoughts and the screaming question marks, asking us, “Who am I?”
We want any other noise to drown that out. And sometimes, a certain person comprises that perfect noise to keep the silence, the fear, and the hurt away.
However, as long as we are looking to and for someone else to tell us who we are and give us value, we are neglecting ourselves. We are refusing to know and accept ourselves. We are refusing to love and respect ourselves.
Like the fairytale premise of kissing many frogs to get our Prince Charming, we can become convinced that if we just encounter “the right” nice-to-meet-you interaction and person, then all will be solved.
And it doesn’t work like that. We kiss and kiss and kiss. We look and look and look. We ignore and ignore and ignore ourselves, waiting for someone else to solve us.
As long as we keep doing that, however, the riddle does not get solved.
We don’t want reality (truth) messing with our fairytales.
Prince Charming…Dream Girl… Friends Forever…“Happily ever after…”
That’s what drives all of the above, isn’t it?
“Happily ever after…”
What does that look like in those early “nice-to-meet-you” moments?
What truths would we be willing to overlook? What red flags?
What lies would we want to try to make true for ourselves?
After all, fairytales ARE prettier, easier, neater, more glamorous than imperfect reality.
Why do we need an escape valve? A fantasy? Why do we potentially see that in every new person we encounter? Why?
It’s about pain, isn’t it? Unless you and I are sadists (and one can argue that we all are, in our own unique ways), we generally try to avoid pain at all costs.
Rejection, loneliness, loss, failure, disappointment, frustration are all various points of pain. And they don’t feel good. We want to rid ourselves of them as much as we possibly can. Some of us find the remedy, the antidote, and the cure, therefore, in the meeting of someone new. And it’s exciting to think about, isn’t it? There is the rush, the possibilities, the promise, the hope that can be attached to any new person.
Who wouldn’t get intoxicated by that?
And we often do.
Is this whole thing something that is nice to be met?
It doesn’t matter how things look. It doesn’t matter how things should appear to be.
What IS?
What IS?
Can we look at it without flinching?
Is what you and I are meeting, indeed, something that is nice to be met? That can be another person; that can be ourselves.
How do we feel about- and respond to- that introduction?
Copyright © 2023 by Sheryle Cruse
"Nice To Meet You?" looks beyond the initial first impressions of relationships. | elephant journal
Hey, Medical Community…
Hey, Medical Community, Could You Please Do the Bare Minimum?
I know. Adverse times. Pandemic. The health care system stretched to its limits.
I also know…
I am not the center of the universe.
Things happen.
Human error is real.
As a cancer survivor, I am familiar with a broad range of appointments. When it comes to doctors, specialists, nurses, blood draws, egos, and tests performed, as well as getting the results from those tests, I’ve felt triumphant, frustrated, and in despair.
Due to chronic back issues and lower, right flank pain, I saw a nurse practitioner, to rule out anything hinky. I made a telehealth appointment first, for much of the intake stuff. And then, the face-to-face followed two weeks later.
After the Covid-19 protocol of ringing the doorbell, waiting for the door to unlock, swiping my forehead for a temperature reading, I waited in the waiting room. Nothing unusual there.
As I’m filling out forms, I’m notified another patient will be seen first, ahead of me. Okay.
Once I finally got in the exam room, the nurse practitioner went through my forms, plugging in the additional information on a computer. She asked me questions, regarding the forms I filled out not once, but twice, once, in the telehealth appointment, two weeks before, and now during this face-to-face appointment.
One question, in particular, caught my attention.
The nurse practitioner asks me, “Would you like to schedule a mammogram?”
I responded, as the breast cancer survivor who listed both my diagnosis and my bilateral mastectomy on the forms, twice: “Well, that would be kind of difficult. There’s nothing there to put in the machine.”
Then, she giggles. “Oh, that’s right. You have it written down. Sorry. I should have seen it.”
It’s in this moment I lose all confidence I’m going to have a thorough exam.
She checks my heart and breathing. I’m still in my clothes. I don’t even need to change into one of those paper gowns. That was strange. She looks into my ears and eyes with one of those lighted instruments. She has me press on her hands with my hand. I raise my legs and bring them down again.
And just like that, we’re done. Maybe the exam took five minutes. Maybe.
I left the appointment, but not before paying a $50 copay for the pleasure of the experience.
Yay.
Look, I know the medical community is taxed with the pandemic. And yes, to be fair, the nurse practitioner and everyone working in that office were masked up (double masks, with one of those windshield head gear screens, to boot). They all made sure to follow social distance and handwashing protocols. I did not feel unsafe.
But I did feel unseen and unheard. That was not accomplished by pandemic-related issues. That was accomplished by the medical professional, failing to read (and heed) the extensive forms I filled out twice.
Am I making a mountain out of a mole hill here? Perhaps, not.
Things could have been much more devastating if I were in a different emotional state. I have accepted my breastless chest. I have had time to embrace my newer normal physicality.
But what if I hadn’t accepted and embraced my situation? What if I was distraught and raw, struggling to process the reality of my body, with the backdrop of life-threatening cancer?
This nurse practitioner’s innocent, but mistaken mammogram question could have sent me hurling into grief and negative body image issues. It could have triggered, maybe, recrimination of “I should have gotten more mammograms, or gotten them sooner; it’s all my fault.”
Here’s a dirty little secret: even within the context of cancer, there still can exist a shaming toward the diagnosed person facing it. Therefore, in my subjective opinion, sensitivity and caution must be practiced, just as strongly as examining and treating the patient.
I am not a medical professional. I am a patient.
But, as that patient, I am entitled to have my medical information, read, heard, and responded to accordingly. This nurse practitioner meticulously plugged my information into her computer, all while failing to read what she typed… (twice).
I’m not asking for miracles; I’m asking that the medical community do the bare minimum here: READ THE DIRECTIONS!
Is that really too much to ask for, pandemic or no pandemic?
Copyright © 2023 by Sheryle Cruse
What Do Brené Brown and Guns-N-Roses Have in Common?
It sounds like the setup to a bad joke, doesn’t it?
Any idea about the punchline?
Brené Brown has taken the popular culture landscape by storm. She has written and spoken extensively on vulnerability and shame. Her famous “Ted Talk,” years ago, had her reaching a profound revelation. She, inevitably, encountered the nasty backlash and the trolls commenting on her appearance and her credibility.
She let us, the audience, know that, in the depths of her personal crisis, filled with self-doubt, she stumbled across this famous quote from President Theodore Roosevelt…
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”
Whew! Who needs a nap from reading this?
Indeed, as she discovered Roosevelt’s quote, she took to heart the words, “daring greatly.” And she personally applied them, within the context of her trolling critics.
Her clapback response to anyone who criticized her work, as well as the vulnerability it took for her to put it out there, in the first place…
“Anonymous comments? You're not in the arena, man. If you can't say it to me in person in front of my kids, don't say it.”
Translation? Skin in the game? Peanut gallery? What are you doing?
It’s easier to be a critic, in the cheap seats, than it is to be the person doing the risky endeavor.
And this leads me to the Guns-N-Roses element in the equation.
Years ago, “G-N-R” put out an epic musical experience of “Use Your Illusion I and II.” Long, epic songs, with their matching, accompanying videos, came out. It, personally, got me through a painful time of disordered eating and personal trauma. With cathartic songs like “Dead Horse” and “Estranged,” I was participating in my own angry exorcisms, simply by playing their music.
Their cover of the “Wings” classic, “Live and Let Die,” therefore, brings me to the common ground of the “arena,” Theodore Roosevelt, and the connecting person of Brené Brown.
For, at the end of this video, featuring its concert footage, there is a child’s photo of lead singer, Axl Rose, with scribbled handwriting, stating, “Get in the ring,” next to the image.
Get in the ring.
Get in the arena.
Dare greatly.
The critic does not count.
Do what is in you to do.
Keep going.
And yes, I could go on further about the impact of these connected dots. But connected dots, nevertheless, bring revelation and freedom to our lives, if we can recognize those connections for ourselves.
Recognize yourself in Brené Brown? How about in “G-N-R?”
What’s your arena, your boxing ring, your place of hashing things out, daring greatly, aspiring for something better than what you experience in your life right now?
What connections are being made?
Discover that; celebrate that. For yourself. Right now.
Copyright © 2023 by Sheryle Cruse
Mosaic of Beauty
“May all your broken pieces which feel so scattered now be reassembled into a mosaic of beauty. May your healing reveal the art of who you really are.”
John Mark Green
Picasso isn’t for everyone.
Some of us see a monstrosity; some of us only see an elbow sticking out of an ear.
Some of us see his work as art at its finest.
They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Extraordinary things can arise from the ashes.
They say all of that. But is all of that truly true?
Pain is beautiful.
No one gets out of this life unscathed. And, generally speaking, no one really enjoys pain. But pain is inevitable. It reoccurs, wearing many different faces. It can be abuse, trauma, death, loss, divorce, failure, and change, just to name a few of its manifestations.
Now, I’m not talking about having an unhealthy dependency on dysfunction. We should seek to get help in mind, body, and spirit. Therapy, learning healthier coping tactics, and accepting ourselves unconditionally should be employed, but not at the expense of denying how much the pain, whatever pain it was, has affected and shaped us.
Nope, we are not “all better” lickety split. We are bleeding and scarred, sometimes lifelong. And we can often view that as moral failure and a defect in our character.
It is not.
It is pain. And pain is difficult, excruciating… and beautiful BECAUSE we have survived the pain. We got out. We made changes. We simply kept breathing.
Pain often gets associated with ugliness because it assumes the worst- case scenario will be the only, final word for us.
But there is beauty from the ashes. There is.
Think about how you have blossomed, and, if you are struggling to see that in yourself, please remember the Lotus Flower. It blooms in the mud. The incredible, delicate, commanding creation blooms in spite of. The flower is not supported by a loving gardener, in a tranquil rose garden. It is not spoken lovingly to by that gardener, affirming it of its inherent beauty and worth. Its beauty is non-negotiable, and flourishes in muddiness, in dirtiness, in filth.
How many of us have grown in mud?
How many of us have felt nothing but dirty our entire lives?
You are not filth. You’re a Lotus Flower.
And your pain can be transmuted into healing, first, for yourself, then for others who believe they are alone in their suffering.
There is a reason you painfully bloomed. There is a reason.
Mistakes (sins) are beautiful.
This one makes us all squirmy, doesn’t it? Especially for us “people of faith” out there. We are shamed for sins and imperfections, repeatedly told how we are nothing but wrong, hopeless, and unacceptable. Love, forgiveness, mercy, and grace seem to be in short supply, sometimes, nonexistent.
I suppose sin is ugly for the pain and the harm it inflicts. And, whether or not you and I view sins and mistakes as one and the same, there seems to be such emphasis in the sin or the mistake as being an inevitable, irrevocable, punishing death sentence. We can absorb lies that tell us we are forever bad, forever ruined, forever wrong, and forever shameful.
We are human beings. We make mistakes. We sin. And while we’re doing all that, we still have value. We do not need to forfeit love and redemption, because we’ve “gone too far.”
No one avoids doing things that are wrong, pathetic, shame-inducing, of poor judgment; no one avoids doing things that are hurtful to others.
Just because we have wound up “there” (in the place of whatever debauchery or evil we think is just too damning to recover from), doesn’t mean we will stay there our entire lives.
All things are subject to change. That includes you and me. Our shortcomings have devastated and changed us. But we are more than any one mistake or sin.
We are the whole mosaic, not just a colorful piece that appears to only look awful.
There is more. We are more.
Growth is beautiful.
Anyone who has ever tried to grow out their hair knows all about the struggle of the awkward stages. Whether we grow out the entire mophead we’re wearing, or simply intend to rid ourselves of our fringy bangs, so we can see our naked foreheads again, these awkward growth stages can appear ugly to us. We can grapple with a no man’s land of being neither here nor there. We don’t quite have short hair; we don’t quite have long hair. Gone are the obvious tidy bangs; but they don’t steer clear of our foreheads completely, often flapping annoyingly against our faces, like the wings of a rabid bat.
(And don’t get me started on trying to wear a ponytail).
Growth is beautiful. But there is a major difference between that assertion and the feelings which are attached to the process. That often feels ugly, painful, difficult. We can often associate beauty with ease. Therefore, we can believe that if something is not easy, it is not beautiful.
We can view the struggle as negating. Beauty is not solely about joy, giddiness, and effortlessness. We do ourselves a disservice if we believe that premise.
If we see the struggle, the hard work, and the tenacity, instead, as the true beauty, regardless of what it looks like, we can take stock in how far we have come, even if it doesn’t look like a beautiful, promised land destination.
We are getting there, nonetheless.
The getting there, not the arrival, is the thing of beauty.
And, since we are not finished human beings, we are constantly beautiful. That is the ongoing mosaic.
(With or without bangs).
Acceptance is beautiful.
I am 5 foot, 4 inches tall. I will not get any taller. There are no more growth spurts in my future (believe me, I checked).
With time and age, I will only shrink,
(Sigh).
I once had a dream in which I kept standing on chairs and some judge-y chair-type panel of “experts” kept telling me, “Nope, still not tall enough.”
“Not enough.”
We are driven by those two words, aren’t we?
And, when we are not, we seem to be harangued by the words’ evil twin, “Too much.”
No matter which voice is coming at us, it pummels us with how we need to reject, not accept, ourselves.
We do it in big and small ways. We do it, perhaps, because we want beauty in our lives. We want to possess it, control it, activate it, and believe it will always be there. We don’t want to be abandoned by it.
We seem to attach so much power to the enough of beauty. It represents perfection, doesn’t it? And, often, this elusive beauty guarantees that we will finally be worth accepting.
Unless and until, however, that happens, we are obligated to reject ourselves.
After all, how dare we believe we are enough when we look at our lives, and only see the ugliness of shortcomings, failures, and what we deem to be personal ugliness?
What is screaming or whispering to you that you need to reject yourself?
What is preventing you from accepting yourself RIGHT NOW?
A body size? A skin color? A physical characteristic? An income? A relationship status? An achievement? A fear?
I will not be a tall woman. I will not be statuesque, unless, of course, it’s a short statue.
Over the course of my life, thus far, I have learned it’s not important in the grand scheme of things. I have almost lost my life a few times to bring that point home. Eating disorders and breast cancer were some attention getting lessons that taught me I need to appreciate my “vertically challenged,” breastless, imperfect, vulnerable, sometimes irritating, and frustrating self, while I still have the breath to do it.
And I still have the breath to do it.
So, I am tall enough. I am enough, even when I struggle with the “too much/not enough” voices that tell me otherwise.
I accept all the flaws. I’m still breathing.
That’s powerful, because many people are not.
I’m still here, and if I’m too short to reach something, I’ll stand on a chair.
Putting the Puzzle Together: Mosaic…Masterpiece… Me:
How about you?
Want to accept yourself, as is, right now?
Want to embrace your mosaic?
The flaws, the “too much/not enough” of your experience, and the learning of your enough-ness, however long it takes to learn, are all beautiful artistic mosaics, as a most important creation.
“May all your broken pieces which feel so scattered now be reassembled into a mosaic of beauty. May your healing reveal the art of who you really are.”
John Mark Green
Thank you, Mr. Green. I pray your words for ALL of us!
Copyright © 2023 by Sheryle Cruse