Daisies and Daggers

It was 2014. I was at a conference with my college church. I was crying. People were praying. To be honest, I don’t remember why I had gone up to the front to be prayed for, but I do remember I had been struggling that entire semester to find my place in college.

I’ve always loved people and been an extrovert, but I’ve also always been a quiet person who gets nervous to speak up. Every time I wanted to initiate a conversation with a classmate or make a new friend, a thought would pop into my head: They’re going to think you’re weird. Think of something cooler to talk about. They probably won’t get your joke and they’ll just gnore you...like last time. Essentially: You’re going to screw this up, so don’t even try.

Over time, I realized that part of the reason for this insecurity was growing up with one parent who was very critical and another who was very submissive. In moments that required self-confidence (like making new friends), the criticism tarred my self-perception, and the submissiveness didn’t inspire much courage. So whatever my original reason for going up to the front, I was definitely thinking “If I had had a different upbringing, I’d have it as easy as everyone else here! I’d be so influential. I could do so much good! It’s not my fault I’m struggling with the things I do!” Wa wa wa me me me.

In the middle of my kneeling at the front and crying, one of the pastors at the conference came and gently put his hand on my shoulder. He began praying for me, but I’ll never forget when he switched from talking to God to talking to me. This isn’t how it usually happens!, I thought. But his words quickly caught me:

“You see yourself as a flower, beautiful...and small...and fragile. Getting crushed by anyone who walks by. But you are not a flower. You are not fragile. You are not broken. You are whole. You are a strong and mighty tree.”

I was sobbing. Just months earlier, I had been looking at a huge oak tree outside my bedroom window, wondering how long it had taken to grow that tall. Staring at a tree thoughtfully might not sound like a huge deal, but it deeply impacted me. I wanted to experience that level of growth in my life. I wanted to break out of my insecurity and be the self-confident go-getter that I knew lived deep inside of me and was yearning to break free. The oak tree represented that for me. The image meant so much to me that I had even sketched it in my journal.

Even though I craved this growth, I shrunk back in the face of opportunity. I would feel bad for myself, thinking about all the ways my parents had jipped me.Thinking about how that had made me the awkward, quiet, insecure person I was. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t be confident like my peers. They hadn’t been through what I had!

My main way of hearing from God was imagining Him saying, “Yeah, he really hurt you. He shouldn’t have done that. I won’t ever be that kind of father to you. I love you so much and I just want to comfort you.” But this prayer/prophetic word was like a slap in the face (a gentle slap). It was like God was saying, “Yes, I am a loving Father. Yes, you have been hurt. But you can’t stay there. That’s not WHO you are. That’s not your identity. I want you to take ownership of the warrior I made you to be. I want you to do WAR on the evil in this world, not just sit around feeling sorry for yourself.”

Ouch. It definitely confused me in the moment. I thought God was always going to take my side when it came to my past hurts.

But I’m so glad this moment happened. It was a turning point for me. It was the jolt I needed to stop excusing myself from growth because “I’ve been hurt before.” I realized that I wasn’t healing; I was hiding. I was using my past as a reason to limit myself, what I could do, and how I related to those around me.

Fast forward six years from that church conference. I’ve come a long way with my insecurity and made a lot of friends along the way. My friends have built me up and encouraged me, and I hope I’ve done the same for them, but I’ve noticed something: Some of my friends are much more comfortable making fun of each other than encouraging each other. They’d rather make a violent joke than be vulnerable. And when I’m around these friends, I pick up on this tendency. I often use this kind of disparaging humor as a defense mechanism. I want to keep anyone from ever thinking that I’m weak. I’ll hurt you before you think I’m weak…

Recently, my friend made a comment that really struck me. We were hanging out in a group and she teased me about something. I don’t remember what it was about (goes to show you how important it was), but it bothered me. She noticed and said, “Becky, you get offended so easily!” And you know what? That offended me! I was so offended in fact, that I had no choice but to pretend I wasn’t offended. Just to prove her wrong. Which made me see just how right she was.

I’ve always worked hard to make people think I was tough. I used to think I did it because it was funny: The tiny girl who barely says a word pulls out a pocket knife when you least expect it? Hilarious. It wasn’t until I started dating my boyfriend that I realized how often I played the tough girl card. He wasn’t impressed by it, and I was (surprise surprise) offended. I thought everyone loved my gimmick of acting tough! I asked him why he didn’t think it was funny, and his response surprised me. He wanted to make sure I didn’t actually rely on people thinking I was tough to find my identity or to make them like me. I could be funny, sweet, kind, and confident. Strength did not equal toughness. What an idea!

I eventually realized that both my friend and my boyfriend were right. I’m small. I have big, baby bear eyes and a round face. I’ve been taken for a sixth grader more than once in the last ten years. I’m quiet in new environments. I’ve never been described as a “big personality”. So, acting tough was my way to feel secure. I’m so protective of my image that, whenever I feel threatened, I get offended and I take out my daggers.

But you know what the irony is? The tough girl facade is so...weak. Being vulnerable takes a lot more courage and self-confidence than constantly putting others down or putting up this front of being impenetrable.

We’re human. Of course we’re penetrable! We’re sensitive. We’re impressionable. We have feelings and sometimes they get hurt. It’s a beautiful part of what makes us human. We like to think that words and insults don’t affect us, but they do. I’d love to pretend (and I do--ask my boyfriend) that I’m a walking callus: that I’m so used to people hurting me that it doesn’t even bother me anymore, but it does.

Now, stay with me here. Remember that flower/tree anecdote? Don’t be too quick to associate my tough girl facade with the tree and vulnerability with the flower. While a flower is vulnerable and while I am rooting for vulnerability, I don’t think we should start seeing ourselves like flowers. Quite the opposite. The moments when I believe myself to be delicate and breakable like a flower are the same moments that I choose to pull out my daggers. When I see myself as fragile, I start attacking anyone who gets too close. But if I am secure, sturdy, and sure of who I am (like the oak tree), then I don’t attack people who want to come close and see me for who I really am. If I know where my identity is and it stands secure, then I can courageously let others in, instead of pushing them away.

I think the sooner we stop pretending to be impenetrable and start embracing the fact that WE’RE HUMAN, the sooner we’ll actually start making a difference in people’s lives, encouraging them, impacting them, and empowering them. They may even be impressed that we’re brave enough to *gasp* be weak.