There was a problem, though: breaking others doesn’t heal your own life. Gossip doesn’t make you feel better about your own faults. Sex doesn’t make you feel more worthy of love, and denying who you are won’t change how you were made. You can cover it, mask it, and try to outrun it, but God created you to be vulnerable. He created you to feel. He created you to love with a sense of abandonment. God created you with certain responsibilities as a woman, and you can’t truly be who God made you to be unless you embrace how He has made you.
Men may have it slightly easier—and the emphasis here is on may. It doesn’t matter. God has guaranteed us all a place; we don’t have to fight for it. One day you will find a man who won’t misuse your vulnerability or run away with your love. You’ll find a man who knows he doesn’t have to fight for his place in life. Together you can conquer the world with your ability to love fiercely and his ability to be strong, with his ferocious love for you and your strength to carry on.
God gave us our unique feminine traits to be matched with a man, not to overcome him. To become less of a woman would be to deny God’s great calling for you. I’m not saying men can’t be feminine or that women are the only ones who can be feelers. I have three brothers who are all “feelers,” and it’s one of the great things about them, yet they are also strong men in their relationships. Meanwhile, their wives have a unique perspective that my brothers often can’t see. I have girlfriends who are not feelers and aren’t as emotional, but they are wise and perceptive in their own ways. I don’t know your personality, but I do know if you’re denying who you are to prove something, you’re fighting a losing battle. You will not gain anything by denying yourself the freedom to feel, to be vulnerable, or to love without boundaries.
My two-year-old nephew is a master manipulator; he will bat his beautiful blue eyes and tell you he loves you right before he asks for another piece of candy. He isn’t allowed to have candy at home. I would say he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s smarter than that. He knows I can’t refuse him. I can’t say no to his precious two-year-old hug and sloppy kiss on my cheek. I always give in, because he knows what I want to hear, and I have what he wants.
Well, I wasn’t much different at the age of sixteen than a manipulative two-year-old, and I wasn’t an innocent child anymore. I knew who I needed to suck up to, which girls I had to pretend I liked, and how to get boys to give me what I wanted. High school is a food chain of sorts, except everyone is trying to get to the top, and people get eaten along the way. You have to meet a certain criteria to make it to the top, and somehow the people at the top get respect they often don’t deserve.
One of my younger brother’s friends was at a local Smoothie King, and he struck up a conversation with the girl at the counter. He learned she was my age and asked the girl if she knew me. Her response was classic: “Yeah, she’s a b----.” I couldn’t have said it better myself. I was always climbing the food chain, and I didn’t care who I hurt along the way as long as it wasn’t me. Consequently, I had to make a lot of apologies when I changed, and I was constantly having to prove that I wasn’t the same girl I used to be. At first, most people didn’t understand; they thought the guy I was dating was making me change or that maybe I had joined a cult. But slowly I showed that I was a different person. My family was accepting, but my old friends didn’t understand. I can’t blame them, because I changed who I was quickly. But after a while they accepted the new me and moved past it.
Meanwhile, I had to relearn all the gifts that God gave me and how to use them for good instead of evil. Luckily, this time I was learning to trust God and wasn’t navigating on my own. God was there to guide me and show me that I didn’t have to be so harsh. I didn’t have to build walls so high no one could get through. I didn’t have to climb over people to get what I wanted. I just had to be patient and trust that in the end God knew better than I did. For me, finding God meant letting go of a lot of grudges and pain. I had to accept that I could never get retribution from those who had hurt me, but let me tell you firsthand that forgiveness is a great thing. I made amends with people I “hated” and found new friends along the way. I could never have done that alone. Fortunately, God never left my side.
There is a common theme throughout my story—if you haven’t noticed: trading one thing in hopes for another. Sex for love, alcohol for community and happiness, smoking for relief, anorexia for control, beauty for attention, and on and on it goes. I didn’t know where to take my desires, so I sought temporary satisfaction. I didn’t realize there was another way to fill my desires, other things that would make me truly happy. The desires weren’t the problem; it was how I was filling them that was. It is perfectly natural to want community, love, attention, security, and relief from pain, but I didn’t realize there was another way to be satisfied, a way that was lasting and didn’t cost me anything.
When I was living that life, the emotions felt so real. The joy I felt when I was drinking with my friends wasn’t about the alcohol; it was about being involved in a group. My heart longs for community, but at sixteen I didn’t know what to do with that, so I drank to be part of something. Then I fooled myself into believing that the bond we shared was real, that we all drank together because we were such great friends, that we had fun together because I was in the group, part of the crowd. The problem with the crowd is that you have to follow the crowd to be in it; your membership is conditional.
Most people don’t want to be told that there’s another way of life. No one wants to be reminded that they’re unhappy. But if you prove you can be happy without drinking, then you’re shattering the lie. My older brother did it, and he remained amazingly popular. But I chose a different route, one based on belonging and not on who I truly was. So after I was excommunicated from the group by my ex-boyfriend, most of my friends abandoned me. They weren’t willing to give up the drinking to be by my side on Friday night, so I was left at home with the only people whose love wasn’t conditional, my family.
If you aren’t in a place of having to face your pain yet, you will be. At some point you’ll hit a point where you’re sobbing into your pillow as a song plays over you that you hoped would never make it to your sound track. Maybe you’ve already reached the point where you are ready to make changes in your life, and you’re trying to communicate that to your old friends. They might tell you that you’re a buzzkill or you’re not fun anymore, but that’s not even the tip of the iceberg. You’re living proof that the lifestyle is fake, and no one wants that kind of reminder looming over them when they’re trying to get a good buzz. I am praying that you’ll come to terms with the fact that you desperately need a Savior. It might not happen today. Then again, maybe it will.
CHAPTER 16
BRICK BY BRICK
WHEN BEN AND I were engaged, we went through premarital counseling to prepare for the adventure that is marriage. Since he was living in Texas and I was in Atlanta, we had four-hour sessions instead of a bunch of one-hour sessions. The first day the counselor sat us down and asked us each one prompt: “Tell me about your family.” For four hours we went back and forth talking about what we wanted to do similarly to what our families did and what we wanted to do differently. I couldn’t have imagined we could spend four hours talking about family, but when we were finished, we’d barely skimmed the surface.
Your family is where you learn everything. It’s where you learn who you are and what you’re worth. It’s where you pick up all your quirky habits and interesting traits. I would have liked to think Ben and I could start marriage fresh, but we couldn’t. We were combining families, all my traits and all his traits meeting head-to-head under one roof. I didn’t realize that family affected everything, even the things I didn’t want it to. I didn’t know that leaving butter out for days on end could be considered gross. I didn’t know that messy floors would stress me out so much. I didn’t know that the reality of being barefoot in the kitchen would make me want to vomit. Family teaches us everything. I
t will impact you in ways you don’t even realize, until one day you wake up and discover you’re just like your mother.
Family is a tricky thing. We’re bound to people we don’t always get along with, and so often we miss the joy that is family. We’re a selfish society, caught up in what we can get. We don’t like the fact that family requires loving without expecting to get something in return—at least I didn’t. In my eyes, my family gave me nothing except a rule book to follow and brothers who annoyed me. I spent years abusing their love, but they waited for me with open arms. They loved me even though they got nothing in return. After I changed and we mended our relationships, I tried so hard to make up for lost time. I would come home from college for every birthday party, family event, and illness I could. When my mom was hurting, I rushed to her aid, and when my family was in trouble, I rallied the troops to fight through it. When my husband and I got married, I had a hard time leaving home because I was so invested in repairing the damage. My family had become my world, and I couldn’t believe I’d missed out on these relationships for so long.
When I was in the midst of my rebellion, Satan had me convinced that my parents were the problem. I had to have a scapegoat because if I could see reality, if I could see that I was the problem, then I might stop self-destructing. I was the problem, though. My parents did nothing but parent, and for that I hated them. I wanted my freedom, which, I have to admit, at sixteen wasn’t mine to grasp. I wanted my parents to let me make my mistakes and stay out of my life. I wanted them to let me drown. I was one of the lucky ones, though. My parents cared. Most of my friends’ parents knew we drank, they knew we were having sex, they knew we did drugs, but they didn’t seem to care.
The weird thing about being a teen is that you want someone to give you boundaries because you know deep down that you’re hurting yourself. You know discipline will hurt, but if your parents care enough to discipline you, then they love you. If they love you enough to make the hard decisions, then they care about your well-being. If they punish you even when you kick and scream, then you mean something to them. Some parents like to think they’re doing kids a favor by giving them “room to make mistakes,” but that’s selfishness with a fancy title. Some of my friends’ parents wanted to be “cool,” to let us drink at their houses, to smoke with us, but I’m sad to say many of their kids never came out of it. Whether the parents meant it or not, I have to believe most of my friends got the message that they weren’t worth the headache that it takes to parent.
My parents weren’t perfect, but they tried desperately to parent any way they could. They did everything to send the message that my life was worth more than this lifestyle and that I deserved more than I was allowing myself. My friends could see that. They often joked that they wanted my parents to adopt them. They loved being at my house, and I couldn’t see why. I was so deceived that I couldn’t see the greatest gift God had given me.
We often reject our families because we see something in them we don’t want to have. Every kid has said, “When I get older, I’m never going to do what my parents have done.” How many times have you heard a girl say, “I pray I don’t end up like my mother”? It’s because we can see the faults in our parents that remind us of our own faults. We’re part of our parents, and for some of us that’s very scary. You can avoid it and run from them, hoping you can achieve a different life, but you’re a part of your family. You have half your mom and half your dad, and while that may be scary for you, it could also be great. While your differences may separate you, your similarities can bind you.
My mom and I used to have World War III in our house on a daily basis. She hated my attitude, and I hated how she knew everything. We would fight almost every day—unless we were shopping. Somehow, we always managed to get along then. It was only after I moved out that I realized we fought because we were so much alike. My mom and I have a similar story. It was only after I was away from her that I really learned to appreciate who she is and what she has done for me.
My relationship with my mom healed, but many never do. So many girls never learn the wonder that is their mother. Some women never realize that their mothers are more like them than anyone else. Isn’t this why our mothers can drive us crazy? They are a glimpse of our futures and our faults. I have long wanted to repair the damage that’s been done between mothers and daughters, to find a way to bridge the gap. I want to give advice that will heal all. I’m still waiting on God to show me how to do that, but right now all I have is what happened for my mom and me.
To my mother’s credit, she always loved me. She didn’t always like me, but she loved me. She went out of her way to love me even when I didn’t deserve it. She loved me when she smelled cigarettes on my breath and found alcohol under my bed. She loved me when she found me drunk at two in the afternoon and when she saw me taking shots on spring break. (I should note here that I got punished for all those things, lovingly but very sternly.) She loved me when I refused her love. She loved as Christ loved. Not only did she love me, but she made an effort to know me. She fed me breakfast in the morning and dinner at night. She left notes in my lunch when I had bad days and sat with me when I needed to talk. My mother realized something that many parents have forgotten: parents can be the number one influence in their children’s lives. The distractions of life are just that—distractions—but deep down all kids want something more. They want a connection. Isn’t that what technology is doing, giving us easier ways to connect with people like us? If a parent can form a connection, no matter how small, she’ll make a lasting impact.
My mother modeled everything that I do now. I love my husband better because of her. And when I have kids, I’ll mother as my mom mothered. My ways mimic my mother’s because she was a lasting influence. Friendships will fall away, teachers will leave, pastors won’t always get it right, but a parent has a platform that will never be replaced. It can be used wrongly or ignored, but either way what John Mayer sings is true:
Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too.
—JOHN MAYER, “DAUGHTERS”
I’d like to add my own advice to all the daughters out there. First of all, forgive yourselves. The pain I caused my mother literally led her to end up in the hospital, but she would never tell you that part. She would tell you how I took care of her when she was sick. She would tell you how we laughed together. She only remembers the good. She is like God in that way. Asking your mom for forgiveness will get you a long way, but even more important is expressing your gratitude for the sacrifices she made daily. I don’t know what kind of daughter you are or what kind of mother you have, but that doesn’t change the fact that God has given you a chance at a unique relationship. My mother is who I call when life gets hard and when it is easy. She is my counselor and my best friend. She has wisdom no experts could impart, because no matter how much they know, they don’t know me. My mother knows me. She saw me grow up, saw my failures and achievements, and can see more to come. It’s crazy to me now how easily I traded that in; what I wouldn’t give to get the wasted years back.
My dad was always the man I respected the most, and disappointing him was the greatest blow to my heart. I never respected the guys I dated, but my dad was a different story. It’s been said that the best gift parents can give their kids is a good marriage, and I found that to be true. My dad spoiled my mom, but not in a bad kind of way. He wined and dined her like they were still two kids in love, and I often got grossed out by their touchy-feely behavior. Even when their marriage went through hard times and they were facing serious problems, I never questioned that I had two loving parents at home. When it came to their kids, they were a united front, rain or shine. Don’t get me wrong—they argued, but we never questioned how much they loved each other. In a world that guarantees nothing, this was my saving grace.
Every Valent
ine’s Day my dad brought home two sets of flowers, usually tulips for me and roses for my mom. I still have every card he gave me on Valentine’s Day stored in a box under my bed. Even when I grew up and had boyfriends, I always looked forward to the flowers from my daddy. He was a constant, unlike any other man in my life during those years, and I reveled in his love. We’d go on long shopping trips, and over dinner we’d battle out life’s great dilemmas. There was one thing I always loved about my dad: he valued my opinion. No matter where I was in life, he always wanted to know what I thought about things, because he cherished my opinion. He didn’t blow me off as a silly girl or treat me like I was dumb. Instead, he taught me that I was a strong woman capable of carrying on a conversation with any man.
We had a tradition that every Christmas Eve he and I would go shopping for my mom’s Christmas present. It was something I looked forward to each year. We’d spend the few weeks before “planning our attack” on the mall. I don’t know how many years we did this, but when I got married, my dad almost forgot my mom’s Christmas present.
So many issues that girls have are blamed on their fathers. It’s a lot of pressure for any man to take on, especially when high school girls can sound like they speak in their own language. We tend to blame all society’s ills on broken families, but my dad loved me, cherished me, and respected me as a woman, and I still had issues. The greatest lesson I took away from my father was that I was smart and respectable and I had something to show the world. I was often dismissed for being silly and arrogant, but my dad believed in me. Over time, his belief in me gave me the courage to be who I wanted to be. I was never afraid to grab life by the horns, because my dad told me that I was one heck of a bull rider. A girl learns greatly from her father, not just in his words but in his silence. Silence from my dad meant he was disappointed in me, that I had shamed him, or that he wasn’t proud of me, and that was worse than being grounded. My dad took an interest in my life, and for that, I valued him. I really never believed I would find a man like my father, and only after finding Ben did I realize I could never marry someone just like my father anyway, because we’re so alike. My mom and I might have similar stories, but my dad and I have similar personalities.
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