God Bless This Mess(75)

Now that I was in therapy, I realized that it wasn’t easier. Suppressing everything hurt us. In order to heal, we needed to unlearn that behavior. And we’ve been working on it.

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After a year of self-reflection, and breathing, and writing, I can honestly say I’m a changed woman. I am shocked at how little time it took to really start to change for the better. I was so worried about taking the time I needed, and addressing my past, and so anxious about looking in the mirror, and so scared about not knowing where I was going or what came next—and it turns out that none of those things were nearly as difficult as my anxiety led me to believe.

Don’t get me wrong—sometimes things are still tough. I get anxious, I get panicked, I don’t handle everything the way I’d like to right in the moment. But I’m learning how to trust myself. My heart. The things I want.

I’m finally learning to love myself the way God loves me.

Today, I’m not as hard on myself as I used to be over the mistakes I make, or anything else. In part that’s because I know that whatever happens next, whatever bumpy roads I might go down, I’ll be fine. Why? Because look at what I’ve been through! I made it. Even after all of that, I’m still here. I’m still good. And Jesus still loves me.

When I say that phrase, it isn’t something I take lightly. It means that Jesus has given me grace. He knows I’m hurting, and He’s there for me. And thank God Jesus is there for me, to help me, so maybe I’ll stop myself from hurting myself again. While I’m sure I’ll mess up plenty again before I learn my lessons for good, I know for sure that I’m listening now. I’m paying attention. I’m trying harder than ever to find my center.

Sometimes it feels like I’ve swung to the far edges of the spectrum. I’ve been Miss Perfect, but I’ve also gone to bed with a guy (or two or three) who didn’t love me while I was trying to be “more relatable” to a TV audience. And both ends of the spectrum left me feeling empty. Why? Because at either extreme, I was living for the validation of other people and what they wanted me to be.

That just doesn’t work out very well. For anybody.

I put myself in a constant cycle of hurt there for a while, but I know now that I don’t have to keep doing that. And like I said: If I can make it through these last couple of years, I can make it through anything.

So can you.

I’m able to see that now, and be thankful for it, because of my faith and because of my therapy. I’m reclaiming my life and becoming my own person. I’m learning and understanding that I already am loved, so I don’t need to look for my happiness and my joy to come from a man, or from anybody else.

I’m dating again, but it’s different now. I’m not letting myself repeat old habits and patterns that used to hurt me. For one, I’m not rushing into anything just because I feel a “spark” with someone. Actually, more times than not, I’m realizing that the spark is something I should run away from.

When your face gets flushed, your stomach drops, your palms start sweating—all that stuff we’ve been taught from movies and TV shows to think of as love at first sight, or what happens when the right guy comes along—that isn’t necessarily a good thing! What I’ve learned in therapy is that trauma gets stored in the body, and I’ve had my share of traumatic dating relationships that were not healthy. So, for me, that flushed, heart-racing feeling in some cases isn’t the sign of a great romance. It’s the body sending trauma signals because it’s familiar with the pain of what this sort of a relationship can bring. In my case (and maybe in yours, too), that spark is actually a warning. It’s my body telling me that this isn’t going to be good for me.

Is it crazy that I’m just learning this now? Do other people know this? I don’t think so. I think we’ve all been taught that the spark is something we should embrace.

I’m not saying that spark doesn’t equal chemistry in some cases. Chemistry is good! But you have to know yourself, and you have to know the difference. I mean, you can have chemistry with somebody who’s wrong for you in every way. You can have chemistry with someone who’s married, but that doesn’t mean you should go try to date him!

For me, the difference between connecting with somebody and not being able to breathe with somebody is a big deal. Connecting is what matters. Not the false excitement of that rush that can sometimes come over me when I first meet someone.

Taking the time to look at my own patterns showed me why I kept falling for the same type of guys—the ones who would ultimately wind up hurting me. (Guys like Luke, and Jed, and Tucker, and Brady . . .) It’s easy to fall back into what’s familiar, even when that familiarity isn’t good for you. If I don’t want to do that anymore then I have to make a conscious decision to try something different; to go for a guy who’s not what I see as familiar, and therefore won’t wind up hurting me. That’s not easy to do! Habits are hard to break. Recognizing the spark as something I need to be cautious of rather than a sign of something I should jump right into took me a little while. But I’m so glad to be figuring this stuff out.

I’m seeing that I don’t have to earn love, because I am loved. I’m learning to love myself so that others are free to love the real me. The full me. And that’s a very big difference. Maybe most important of all, I know what kind of love I deserve, and I’m not settling for less.