I heard this song yesterday:
and when I did, I laughed. I still knew the words after all these years. I could probably sing it with the bitter, cracked, sexy (supposedly) way that I used to. But, after the laughter came the groan.
That was me.
That was how I coped. I swallowed resignation daily, like a pill. It was too huge to take in one dose, so I broke it up into more manageable chunks, mostly in melodic form. I had an entire medicine cabinet full of anger, hopelessness, confusion.
I loved it.
I wear music like a skin.
I heard this song yesterday, too and shared it with my Husband:
I mean, what in the world happened?
The contrast is so sharp.
I hear ‘Paper Bag’ and I ache. It’s a painful reminder of that being my life for years. I didn’t want to let go of it. It made me numb and I was thankful. It was my status before Facebook was thinking of offering me one.
Today, there is no way I could do that, listen to that and laugh and try to be stupid sexy when in reality I had no idea what true sexiness was. It was a farce. I was a phony.
A lot has changed in 13 years.
What changed are the beliefs.
Then. . .
I believed. . .
God never really liked me.
Love wasn’t really lasting.
Love was for everyone else but me.
I would never be good enough. . . but,
I had to be good if I was going to be loved.
Did you see the carrousel ride at the end of that? I was able to walk away from that about three years ago.
So, now. . .
I believe. . .
God does love me and He like me too (which is still a hard truth to accept sometimes).
Love is for me.
Being good enough is a farce. I am already loved. I bless the horse that I rode in on.
But, still, even now, there is so much that needs to be healed. In my prayers the other day, I could feel myself clenching, still hanging on to something that was not God. I asked what it was that I was afraid of and I heard,
I saw it. Underneath me. A big white billowy holy place ready to catch me. And still, I wasn’t quite sure it would.
This is a process. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
I heard the words, “Fall into Love”.
That’s my problem. I fall in love all the time. I fall in love with a church or a song, with a friend or a shirt, but deep down, I’m still not sure it will last. I am waiting, white-knuckled for them to walk away. I’m expecting it. And, even if they don’t, after 13 freakin’ years, I’m still clutching, believing that they’ll find that thing that’s better than me.
I’m learning. I’m experiencing Love. I’m not letting go yet (ugh), but I want to. I really, really want to.
These last few days have been good practice and given me good reasons to fall into Love.
So, maybe she’s still there. That bitter, angry, scared, hungry little girl, hanging around, listening to music that is killing her slowly.
Maybe, if I ask, she might take my hand and we can walk out of this together.
We might even forget the words to the song.