Storytime

She stands at the front of her 1st grade class with four others. They take turns reading from a book about a really tall girl who was picked on for being a string bean but finally accepts herself. The first boy reads pretty well. A few stumbles, but pretty good. The next girl reads monotone. Then it’s her turn. She reads well, putting emotion into it (unlike THAT girl), doesn’t stumble and is proud of the job she’s done. She’s so excited about it that she barely hears the next boy reading.

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When they’re done, they all turn around, eyes closed and their backs to the class as the teacher says each reader’s name. John. She hears the sound of clothing and desks rustling as people raise their hands. Shannon. More rustling. Elizabeth. Nothing. That can’t be right. I heard it with everyone else. Even the monotone girl who got LOTS of hands raised judging from the sound of movement. Why not me? What’s wrong with me?

Whatever the prize was, I didn’t get it. I honestly don’t recall who got it. I just knew I hadn’t. That is the first experience I can remember in which I learned that popularity trumps talent. And, not being a popular, that pretty much set the tone for the rest of my … life?

In school, I was the quiet, well-behaved smart kid who didn’t wear (couldn’t wear) things that were “in”. When our town got a Fashion Bug Plus, it was a godsend. Until then, the only clothing for plus size females were outfits that, well, might would look good on my MOM (no offense, mom). Even with that, though, I still had an inward struggle going on. Not wanting to stand up and be noticed because, frankly, I didn’t want to feel that sting of rejection. Again. I did, though. I wasn’t popular and, really, that’s okay. I had a handful of friends who knew me for me and loved me for me and, for the most part, my K-12 experience is remembered fondly.

I stayed quiet. I let them think I was “the quiet one” (my friends and family know well and good that I am NOT quiet). The only time I got to be myself was when I went to summer music camp. No one there knew the quiet me. They were meeting me for the first time and I could be myself. My loud, goofy self. And I loved it! Inevitably, I had to come back to “reality” and went back to being the quiet, well-behaved smart kid.

You know, I think I’ve heard my friends and family laughing every time I’ve typed “well-behaved”. They know better, but that’s another story. This one is about that little voice in my head, born that day back in 1st grade, and how I’ve allowed it to control me at times. Too many times. In fact, it doesn’t really like that I’m writing this. I can’t wait to hear its reaction when I actually post it (What? Are you NUTS?!) Yep. There it is. But it doesn’t seem as strong this time. I will say, when I woke up this morning with this post idea in my head, that voice was a good bit stronger. I assured it that it’ll be okay. The world won’t end if people know this about me. The world won’t end even if some of the people who read this don’t like it. I like it and am learning to like me.

What follows is a poem (of sorts) I wrote over the course of the last three days. Fair warning, it starts rather harshly. Keep reading. It gets better.

I am my own worst enemy. My most severe critic.
Bitch about the one done wrong; Screw the other 99 done right.
What the hell is WRONG with you????
I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
I am a worm and no man.
Meek. Weak. Pathetic. Filthy. Repulsive.
You disgust me.

There is nothing you can call me that I haven’t called myself.
There are no harsh words you can say to me that I haven’t said to myself.
There are no criticisms you can find in me that I haven’t already found in myself.
There are no niceties you can say to me that will change this.

This is what I hide behind my mask.
You don’t see it. You see only what I want you to see.
What I allow you to see.

But now the mask is off.
That voice in my head, telling me lies:
My Inner Critic trying in some warped, misguided way to protect me from rejection?
Satan trying to keep me from becoming who God knows I am?

I WILL NOT be a prisoner to misguided criticisms.
I WILL NOT live my life by something that’s not true.
I WAS created in His image.
I AM fearfully and wonderfully made.
I AM a child of God and
THIS is most certainly true!