Saturday, February 18, 2012

Not sure if anyone reads this any more....

But it's all good. It's mostly for me. I used it for years as a cheap form of therapy and it was a lovely release of pent up emotions during the time when I had all four children in the throes of puberty, mendacity, diaper-changery, tantrumy, bellicosity, crashing our vehiculary, and many other assorted 'ertys'.

Now that I'm older, though I often doubt the 'wiser' part has distilled upon my gray matter as promised, I find I often have horrid incidences from my past pop up in my mind as if to torture me anew. As if the first time my stupidity wasn't enough to force me sobbing into the fetal position-noooooooo. It comes back again and again and again. It's often said that we are our own harshest critics, and I believe this to be true. I'd never treat someone else the way I treat myself.

And isn't that awful?

Trust me, Simon Cowel has NOTHING on me.

Once upon a time while in college, a young man that I thought I fancied, invited me to come over to his apartment. We'd worked together for a long time and I did have quite the crush on him. When I arrived at his place, his roommates were all there and he asked me if I could help him craft a Valentine's card and invitation for him for a girl he wanted to ask out to a dance. He knew I was a calligrapher and so needed my help in making her something gorgeous. I did. I was quite proud that I was able to keep up witty banter during my artsy-craftsy-calligraphy time while there. When I left his apartment, I fell down the outside concrete stairs. Not only was my heart bleeding, but so too were my knees. I sat there sobbing and hurting and viewing myself as an incredible fool. Such. A. Fool.

I have many other stories like this----that, to my Simon Cowel mind, reduce me to what I believe I am worthy of; scorn, ridicule, disdain.

Then I have a younger daughter who, in her effort to comfort her sister as she feels unworthy and listens to the voices that tell her she is ugly and icky and all things undesirable, plays this song for her. Here are the lyrics.

I am His daughter

The photos in the magazines
Don't dictate who I'm supposed to be
The world can't recognize, all that I am inside
But I know in His eyes, I am a part of, the bigger picture,

There's so much more to me
He helps me see that I have so much to offer
I am His daughter
He loves me the way I am,
He's my strength when I stand
He is my King, and my Father,
I am His daughter.

The people on the TV screen,
The leaders, rulers, and queens
I watch them shape the world,
And though I'm just a girl, I still know for sure,
That I am a part of, the bigger picture

There's so much more to me
He helps me see that I have so much to offer
I am His daughter
He loves me the way I am,
He's my strength when I stand
He is my King, and my Father,
I am His daughter

It's true. I AM HIS DAUGHTER. And we've all played the fool sometimes. (Don't worry, I won't link to that particular song) But even more than playing the fool---we listen to the voices that tell us we are unworthy, that our mistakes make us unredeemable and unlovable. Nothing could be further from the truth. Hopefully we can change the inner conversations we have and by doing so, reverse the damage that harmful self talk does to us.

4 comments:

  1. love what you wright. I read your blog. I do. and I love it. I love you.

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  2. Satako, I do so love you. And miss you. Thank you. :)

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  3. I read these...not that you know me from the stranger down the street..lol, but I love your writing. We write blogs mainly for ourselves anyway, right? I started mine thinking perhaps it could lead to something bigger, but in reality it was an outlet for my writing that I couldn't seem to get anywhere else. I know exactly what you mean...I have soooo many memories of times like that - such as in college when a friend that was sooo good looking we would put up with his juvenile behavior, tied my shoes together at a dance and then would push me down when I tried to untie them. IT was one of THE most mortifying moments of my life. But we survived all those past traumas, right? You are an amazing example, and the song your daughter wrote is awesome. Would you let me share it with someone who has daughters that are struggling with this vary thing?
    Thanks again...

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  4. My girl didn't write that song---it's from the church. Our girls sing it in Young Women's group. It's such a beautiful song and so full of truth. Glad you like it! :)

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Go ahead....tell me the truth :)