Sex, beauty, lies, and freedom.

This weekend I made a decision. One that has the potential to radically change my entire life. There was a moment this past Friday where somewhere lighting struck. Lights streamed down into my grey heart. And I’m “shore” that someone, somewhere was singing and dancing with joy. 

This moment was not your typical “ah-ha” moment. No. It was much more than that. It was a stirring, a movement, an awakening.

For a long time now I have talked (sporadically) about how I feel about food (love it, duh), health (um, it is essential to a happy life), the cultural curse of our sexualized world that bloats out insecurity like it’s a job (makes. me. want. to. scream. all. the. time.). I’ve been very clear that I hate how women constantly put themselves down, that I don’t think food is an enemy, that baking and eating is a pleasurable thing and is to be enjoyed, that being a size 2 when your body structure screams to be a size 8 is unattractive.

Healthy, confident, and natural is beautiful.

But I’m not quite so sure I’ve been quite as clear as to where I fall into this cultural struggle that so obviously doesn’t stop with the external. This struggle that isn’t simply about a look, a size, or a number. It’s about so much more. Worth. Value. Inner beauty. Acceptance. (From others and from yourself). 

Here’s where I fall…I am a hypocrite on most accounts. I fully believe the things that I say in my head…convincing my heart and living it out is are entirely different.

Here’s the deal. I’m twenty-four. I’m your average girl. I consider my (RED) hair to be my greatest asset. My mother and sister (who have plenty of junk in their proverbial trunks) used to give me a hard time because I “had no butt.” Now…I like the butt that has managed to form itself below the dimples in the curve of my back. (For the record…I know how to shake it and do so in Zumba class every week…with a big fat smile on my face.) I think I’m funny (despite what you might think). I love photography, and art, and music, and books, and adventure, and wish I were artsier than I actually am. Sometimes I pretend that I am…just for kicks. And also wish I was more adventurous than I am. I like sweets and (occasionally, sometimes…often do some emotional eating). I love my friends and my sweat pants. I love to dance, but am much more likely to be found dancing at home (in my sweats) than at a night club. I like me…most days. Especially on the superficial level…I think I’m pretty cool. (Read: I’d be my friend, not I’m a narcissistic crazy person.)

But…I often live out of crazy fear of rejection, pain, and plain old life. 

I compare myself to anything female with two legs, walking. I put myself down just in hopes that someone else will disagree. I beg for my worth to be stated, recognized by another simply to prove that I’m not irrelevant to this Earth. I buy into the belief that only (disgustingly) skinny is beautiful. I criticize every piece of my body because it doesn’t look air brushed in real life. I speak meanly to myself. I live out of fear that I will be caught. That someone will find out–that I’m crushed on the inside, writhing in the painful awareness that I’ll never be good enough for “their” standards, much less my own. I fear that you will discover I’m actually not good enough.

I forget where my identity lies.
I forget what I’m worth, what I cost, and who paid the price. (I promise clicking on that is worth your four minutes.)
I forget that I am free indeed to “just” be me.

And the worst of it all…I buy into the lies that I’m not good enough. In believing this I push it onto all the people around me who love me. Sickeningly looking for affirmation that I’m right. That I’m not good enough…making them the enemy.

So Friday night I took a stand. I plastered my room in blue sticky notes.

Truth?

[Taken from Thursday’s post because it’s (always) incredibly relevant.]

Today is Tuesday. Four days post life-changing decision. The world hasn’t changed. My world hasn’t even changed. But there is a crack. A crack in the cement that surrounds my heart. A big crack. A gap. One that allows for passerby-ers, the wind, the rain, sledgehammers, and unconditional, incredible, radical love to break it down ever more. It might take time. Time I have.

What I don’t have is anymore time to waste on believing lies and living them out.

As if God could get any greater…his gift to me? Other than the 1,001 others I could list for you at any given moment…it came in the form of an email. From an incredible friend…a video…spoken truth…my gift to you for your Tuesday.

https://vimeo.com/36926654
click it. listen. let it resonate. let it mean what it is meant to.

This video has…in five days received 12,699 views.
You know why? …because the world is dying for this refreshing truth. Suffocating souls are gasping for this. That link…the one right before this…it was the second gift. you should click and read it as well. I’m telling you. It’s hard, good, truth.

I love affirmation. Especially the kind that brings life. That fuels love. That gives compassion (for others and self ) an entirely new meaning.

You know what I’ve learned? The truth is hard. Real truths. Not cultural lies fancied, and gussied up, and flaunted around as truths. The real, heart-wrenching stuff…well that, is hard.

It’s hard because it calls into question everything.  The way I live. The words I speak. The love I give. The love I receive. The way I think about others. The way I think about myself. The acceptance I give. (And receive.)

It takes life from just a journey to be had in the good and mundane to an

Epic

Romantic

Action-packed

Breath-taking

Risky

Tear-filled

Award-winning

Lovely

Painful

Beauty of a story…incredibly risky.

Death is on the line.

And totally, utterly, completely worth it.