bloom + flow

Tag: self-love

  • finding strength in imperfection: a spiritual retrospective

    finding strength in imperfection: a spiritual retrospective

    Don’t call it sadness or sorrow, this wet blanket that weighs on me. That warms, but doesn’t soothe. That covers, but doesn’t protect. That hides. That hinders. That hulks. It must be melancholy. This in-between where I exist alongside the feeling. It is one on its own. As am I. We are separate. But we are tethered. Intrinsically bound since birth. Commensal symbiosis, I’d suppose we are.

    I let myself down daily. Not to take up my cross. Not to let it be. These, too, are separate. Disparate. I have faith that we will be covered not just clothed. Blessed not just bountiful. And I am anxious that even with that, even though we will fare better than most, we will not reach the fullness of our blessing because of past mistakes. That may not be true. But I’m realizing I have a hard time forgiving myself of my transgressions. Of my mistakes. Of my missteps. I fall short daily. And I am ever-concerned that my imperfections will be the downfall of us all. But I am reminded, in the quietest of whispers, the Creator created even my imperfections. That I can be indecisive, but it wasn’t always this way. That I can be insecure and feel like an impostor. That I’m capable of so much more than I give myself credit for but the thought of rejection stops me in my tracks more often than not. That I struggle with investing in vices that attempt to minimize my big thoughts and bigger feelings. That I focus on pouring into others so I can care less about the dreams of my own that haven’t come true. It hurts less that way. So often it feels like my time has passed. That I missed chance after chance. That I squandered opportunity after opportunity. And now I’ve made my bed. And this is where I lie. Still. Like I didn’t learn the lesson and I don’t know better. Like I can’t know better from worse. Like I won’t understand ignorance for bliss. 

    The Creator knew me from my mother’s womb. But I didn’t. Still don’t. Not really. Not if I’m honest with myself. I know what I allow myself to know. I don’t allow myself to know the overwhelming truths. But they’re there. Sitting in the corner like the spook by the door.

    I said, “your servant is listening, Lord,” and closed my eyes. I said, “use me, Lord,” and closed my mind. I said, “bless me, Lord,” and closed my heart. Not on purpose. I have ears to hear and want to listen. I crave wisdom and discernment. I yearn for a heart open to love fully without reserve. But that will mean I will see. And I will hear. And I will be used. And my mind will be opened. And I will be blessed. And my heart will be softened. I can no longer be numb. It is the lack of filter of which I’m most concerned. How do I regulate what enters my spirit? How do I know I’m equipped to not fall? People depend on me. To stand firm. To step assuredly. So I do the safe things. The things that tear me up inside because I’m falling short. It feels like I don’t know how to win. Like I self-sabotage. How can I be great if I never try? What does it matter about falling if I never fly? How will I know how close to the stars I can get if I don’t even shoot for the moon? 

    I am my own sadness. My own sorrow. My own melancholy. I don’t need others’ judgement. I have my own. I don’t need anyone’s else’s boxes either. I shrunk as small as I could for as long as I could and now I feel deformed. Like I don’t know what stretched out feels like. Like I play small because it’s all I know now. And that makes me even more sad. I don’t want this for me. 

    I want to live out loud. I want to thrive and create and call it good. I want to be the image bearer I was called to be. I am in my own way. I have to move. I have to remember the promises. I have to stop seeing my Heavenly Creator like my earthly one. They are not the same. I have to see me the way the Creator sees me. They are not the same. It doesn’t matter if the world burns. If the Creator be for us, who can be against us? Find the time. Make the time. Be the version of me that makes me most proud. 

    Even infighting can prove victorious. The Creator showed us that. Every need will be supplied according to the riches in glory. The Creator showed us that. Ask and it shall be given. The Creator showed us that. We will never be left nor forsaken. The Creator showed us that. I cannot think of a time where the Creator hasn’t shown up for me. Hadn’t protected. Hadn’t provided. Hadn’t clothed and covered. Over and again promises have been kept. Why would that change now? 

    Do the thing. Call it good. 

    Be the change. Call it good. 

    Create the thing. Call it good. 

    Try and try again. Call it good. 

    Rest. Call it good. 

    Call it good. Even if it doesn’t feel like it yet. Call it good. Even if it doesn’t look like it yet. Call it good. Even if it doesn’t seem like it yet. 

    Yet is powerful. Especially when our timing isn’t the Creator’s timing. Call it good now. Yet will come. 

  • love yourself: the key to true compassion for others

    love yourself: the key to true compassion for others

    I grew up in church, but that didn’t make me religious. It didn’t make me spiritual. Being in church didn’t make me a Christian any more than standing in a garage would make me a car. Yet, those early teachings stuck with me. Right or wrong, fact or fiction, there are some things that are unshakeable. And in the still moments, they wrestle with me until I see truth in a new light. 

    Lately, I can’t stop thinking about the call to love our neighbor as ourselves. For much of my life, church teachings guided me to focus on the beginning of that statement. It was intrinsically linked to treating others how I’d want to be treated. It was fleshed out with the biblical definition of love. I knew how others should be treated and, as much as possible, I did just that. I have been patient and kind. I have not been envious or self-seeking. I have not been quick-tempered. I kept a short record of wrongs—not to cut people off, but to guard my heart. If they ever need me, no matter past wrongs, I show up. I have protected and trusted and hoped. I carried love for others on my back like the blessed burden it can be. 

    And one day, I realized I wasn’t living the truth. I wasn’t doing it right. We’re called to love our neighbors as ourselves. I was so busy loving my neighbors. So busy pouring into others as best I could—better than I knew how, sometimes. But, if I’m honest, I didn’t love them as myself.

    I have not been patient or kind to myself. I haven’t been envious or self-seeking, but it’s kinda hard to do that when you’re living for others, anyway. What do you know of envy if you celebrate others’ wins as if they’re your own because you don’t know how to celebrate your own? What do you know of self-seeking when you’re rarely able to see yourself let alone seek yourself? I have been quick-tempered, often giving myself a matchhead’s worth of grace while extending my neighbors miles of rope. I have kept a long record of wrongs, many of which are examined almost nightly. I have not been my best protector. I do not and have not always trusted myself. I do not and have not always hoped for or had hope in myself. In short, I have not loved myself despite having loved my neighbors. I may have loved my neighbors more than myself. I may have even loved them better. If obedience is truly better than sacrifice, then I have done this for nought. 

    If someone were to ask me to list the people, the places, the things I love, I wouldn’t think to mention me. So often, we assume it’s a given—self-love. But why? What in the world would compel us to think that we live in a world where self-love reigns supreme? Selfishness? Maybe. Self-firstness? Definitely.  But if I really sit and think on it, I would venture to guess that most of the isms in this world aren’t necessarily a reflection of hate for others, but a deficit of love for self. Which, on many levels, is valid. How do you love others as yourself if you don’t know how to love yourself? If the world has programmed you to think that love for yourself is linked to what they can see rather than what you can feel? 

    In the stillness, I am realizing that I am not alone. There are generations of people who do not know how to love themselves, but feel called to love others. To sow into others. To show up for others. And in that way, they forget to be. Forget to do. Forget how, even. Sometimes this triggers resentment. Sometimes despair. Sometimes it’s just a nagging feeling that something isn’t quite right even though it seems to be from the outside looking in. Sometimes it’s felt. Other times it’s heard. Sometimes it tunnels into us and manifests in ways that don’t make sense in the physical sense. There is always something to view in Johari’s window. Sometimes a peek is all it takes. Other times we have to climb in, find a perch, and be patient as we sit watch.