When I was a teenager in the era of Teen Mania and Brio Magazine, all I wanted was that relationship with God that I saw others have. Where they could quote the Bible with ease, lift their hands in worship, and have a perpetual smile on their face. Through my teen years and into my twenties I chased after the euphoria of knowing God and feeling His presence. Even if it was at the expense of my own health and happiness. I would spend hours on my knees in my room, praying, trying to feel something. I read through my Bible, attended youth groups and church, and even went to Bible studies. I look back at my life and I think to myself, wow. That girl, that teen to twenty-something girl was reaching out to something, Someone, to cure and mend her lonely heart. And because I could not see God, hear Him, feel Him...I looked to people. People who appeared Godly and appeared to have it all together. Their worship was fervent and their words were courageous. Some of them went on missions trips. Some of them served in the church. I latched onto them, longing to have what they had. But it never came to me.
This is when the doubting and the fear started. Was something wrong with me? Did God have little to no interest in me? As someone whose family embraced Calvinism, I would lie awake in fear that perhaps the reason I could not “get it” was because I was not one of the elect and that God hated me and had predestined me to hell. In which case, what was the point of even trying anymore?
This led me into a deep depression, as I would flip flop in my faith; leave, and come back. Leave, and come back. I can now begin to see that this had all the makings of an abusive relationship, as I chased after the lover who spurned me; a codependent relationship that was one-sided. It was something that I had to put an end to myself because it was affecting my very mental health. I came to the conclusion that this God, whom all of these religious people told me loved me, did not really love me, and in fact, did not seem to care one way or the other about me.
This was what others told me could give my life meaning. Yet, it was lacking. So for a long time, all I could gather was that there must have been a defect of some kind in me. Maybe there was something wrong with me. I now know that this is untrue. Because, in the midst of all of this, I discovered someone else; myself. My own self-worth. All this time I had spent trying to please someone who didn’t appear at the time to desire me. But what about how I felt about myself? Did I like who I was? Did I desire myself as a person? What were my strengths? My weaknesses? What were my talents? I realized that I had never made an effort to get to know this girl; me. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I sat down with myself in an effort to get to know this girl who longed for love and acceptance. Who I found was a smart, happy-go-lucky girl who wanted to be heard. Who wanted to be seen. I found a girl who had been through a lot but had overcome. I found me.
As I deconstruct, I continue to learn new things about myself, knowing all the while that my sense of self-worth comes from inside. Not outside. This was my first step into the world of the exvangelical. I am slowly stripping away all that was placed on my at such a young age, laying it out on the table, and learning what was good, and what was not. What was harmful, and what was healthy. How the church affected my mental health, and my outlook on the world; and through it all, growing into someone I can honestly say that I love and am proud of.
No comments:
Post a Comment