A life without walls

Yesterday I had the privilege to speak to a fun group of women and girls about healthy relationships between members of our gender. It was a great opportunity, and I think of the 10minutes I was given to speak, I took about 20. Oops. And if I'm honest, I could have gone on for about 3 more hours! Maybe I'll just get some of it off of my chest here . . .


I know I have some guys who read my blog, but don't check out now, fellas - this could be an opportunity to understand your gal and how she ticks and clicks with her friends.


Now, being all of 32 years old, I realize I don't have a firm grasp on all there is to know on this topic, but in so many ways I've come so far from where I once was . . .


So maybe that's where I shall begin. I've been hurt by women. And not just hurt - crushed, flushed, broken, used, and beaten. Intentionally and unintentionally. In junior high school a girl named Brandi once threw her crushed-up crackers into my horrifyingly-curly hair quietly during homeroom while I was bent over reading a book. I couldn't figure out why everyone, including a very cute boy I liked, was snickering the whole period. Kids continued to laugh when they saw me in the hall, and all I could do was cast my eyes on the floor as I walked to avoid their jeers. It was not until I got home and looked in the mirror that I realized why they were laughing at me. I cursed my hair, and if I could pinpoint a day that started my life-long struggle with insecurity, that would be it. That was when I first started building my wall, brick by brick, so that girls wouldn't be able to get behind me without me knowing their intentions to shame me with my back turned. Even now, though I've come to grips with the hair God gave me, I still prefer to straighten my curls, regardless of the time or effort it costs me.



During those same years, my "best-friend" disowned me for no apparent reason other than the fact that we were one of the only families in the district who didn't drive a Mercedes and own a million-dollar mansion (we rented our house, actually). I realize now that I loved her, but I wouldn't have put it in those words then. We shared everything - boys, movies, family junk, laughs, cries, ballet recitals, homework, afternoons, hopes, dreams, band, goals . . . there was nothing important to me that she didn't know and share. But one day - she was done with me. Wouldn't call, wouldn't come over to hang-out, wouldn't even talk to me in the hall, or look at me in ballet class. She dropped me like a 50-pound bag of bricks. If I could pinpoint the day my anxiety around women began, it would be that day. I added those heavy bricks to my wall, protecting myself from women who would get close enough to drop me from that height. Even now, though I have several close girlfriends, I can still find myself trembling around some women, and I can go into avoidance mode instead of risking a relationship if I have any suspicion she might reject me in the end. I still find it easier to laugh around and relate to men in some ways. In high school I only let one girl in to be my friend. Fortunately, we're still close.




This pain continued in my adult years, though the wounds were less intentional with other women. One particular woman I respected greatly and wanted to be just like, well she hurt me too. Looking back, I know she would never have done this on purpose, but I felt totally forgotten by her because I asked her to mentor me and she said yes, but then it never happened. At the time I felt so defeated, so shameful that she would give me her lip-service for the sake of duty, but I was not really worth her precious time. No, not me. I wasn't good enough. I know that wasn't what she was really thinking, but it's what I imagined her thinking, and my imagination sent knives at her that just deflected off of her oblivion and stabbed my heart over and over. In those months of felt-neglect I began a pattern I still have to fight where I count every commitment a woman makes to me much too seriously, and I take it personally if people back out of time with me (even for church meetings - I know, ridiculous). I wonder if why she said "I can't make it today" really has to do with the fact that she doesn't honestly think I'm good enough for her time. I spackle some more bricks onto my wall.



And then there was another woman-leader in my church who accused me of disrespecting her while we were on a mission trip. Now, I will admit, my PMS was raging and I was jokingly sarcastic at one point. I think she asked me a question about a bunk and I replied "Have you seen our room?" a little too abruptly. But despite those circumstances, dishonor had NEVER crossed my mind. I was mortified by her incorrect assumption and accusation when in reality she was a dearly treasured woman whom I had thanked God for often and so wanted to emulate. How could she take one statement and accuse me of public disrespect? I turned off everything, shut down, and was barely able to fly back to the US in one piece. I think I remember vowing not to even try to minister to anyone again because I would just mess everything up since my intentions could never be interpreted correctly and because I was such a communicative derelict. I piled the wall over my head that day. I put on the bricks as high as I could reach and then started another wall to the right of me to keep out anyone who might try to come around the side of my wall. I still struggle with the right thing to say in impromptu moments around other women, and would much rather e-mail or text what I need to communicate than chance saying the wrong thing.



And these are my walls. I'm learning how to break through and take them down, but sometimes I put more bricks on rather than taking them off. Insecurity. Fear of rejection. Fear of re-injury. Fear of being misunderstood. I'd like to tell you the story of how God is teaching me to let women in again, but before I do that, I wonder if you might share some of your walls too . . .