If you could sit down and talk to younger me over coffee right now, you would find a girl that didn’t allow herself to fail. To mess up. To say the wrong thing.To wear the wrong thing. To look the wrong way. To admit her failures. To post a picture that contained a blemish. To have any flaws. To be HUMAN. Heck, I probably wouldn’t even allow myself to have that cup of coffee, because it contained caffeine and have you heard what that could do to your skin? Younger me didn’t have the courage to face breakouts. To face my fear of not measuring up.
I was an addict, an addict to perfection. And the cure seemed as impossible as breathing without air. I couldn’t let go of this image I had worked so hard to create, because in doing so, that meant I’d have to come to terms with who I really was. And that was terrifying. That involved facing my past. Facing my mistakes. Facing people as I truly was. Here lied an even bigger problem, though—I didn’t even know who I was. I had so carefully and intentionally crafted myself to be who everyone wanted me to be, that I forgot who I was, who I was created to be. Jean sizes and job titles and boyfriends and name brands were the measuring sticks I valued my worth against. They were my identity. That is, until they disappeared. Jobs come and go.
Weight fluctuates. Boyfriends don’t always become husbands. Brands go out of style. And all that’s leftover is bits and pieces of broken hearts, tattered fabrics, goodwill piles and old name badges. Life moves on, at least, the days do. But the living can’t take place when you’ve lost your identity. Not really. So, I had to do what any addict seeking freedom has to do. I had to admit I needed change. I had to initiate it. I had to fess up about the mess ups.
Now, recovery doesn’t happen in an instant. There isn’t a one-time fix-all solution. Even Cinderella had to face midnight after her fairytale experience. And once the magic and freedom and splendor of my choice to move towards living an addiction-free life wore off, there was me – standing there alone, wearing the same shame, brokenness, and fear of not measuring up on my back. This is when I realized I didn’t need a fairy god mother or a pair of the right shoes to reach my destiny. I found God. He found me, really. Right where I was. For the first time, I didn’t have to hide the broken pieces. I didn’t have to stop the mascara from running down my face. I didn’t have to try to earn love, it was just there. Poured out at my feet. What a humble, loving savior we serve. He meets us where we are. And I had been broken on the floor for quite some time.
I don’t know where you’re at in life right now or what you’re personally facing, but I do know that there’s something there. We all have that thing, that nagging (fill in the blank) that constantly tries to overtake us. I do know this for sure, though—there is a loving, grace-filled God waiting to meet you where you’re at. To wipe your tears. To tell you that it’s okay to not be okay.
Recovery won’t be easy. Recovery won’t ever end. You’ll have good days, you’ll have bad days. You’ll take a step forward and then find yourself taking three steps back. Just know that it’s worth it. Know that you’re worth it. You deserve to fully live life. You’re meant to. You’re supposed to. Regardless of how lonely the journey may feel right now, I promise you’re not alone. You have a perfect guide, an almighty right hand grasping yours, leading the way. Let go of your fear, and allow yourself to hold on tight to that hand. it’ll never fail you.