I wonder what the world would be like if we cried out about how we feel inadequate and unworthy. If we were honest with ourselves ­about that – away from the therapy room – would it be worth it? To speak it?

Ah, but instead we powder our noses and find something we have she could be jealous of. We find strength in the things that destroy us from the other side.

What is this?

This falsity of posture – backs straight, tummies in, we are invincible no?

And breaking all the time.

I hate social media ninety percent of the time because it turns people into numbers. I realize this is an unpopular opinion. There is so much good that can be done through networking, but there is harm too. The lying becomes such a habit that neurons fuse together to knit a cocoon around the insecurities. They construct a castle of expectations. A paper castle whose foundation is others’ perceptions. The drawbridge is up. And we are safe no?

So many times, I think I want the pretty picture of the sun setting over an open book and a steam-curled cup of tea. But I am not reading the page in front of me. It is wide open, and I know what the words mean. They are vicious and cruel and bright and hopeful. Take this truth and hold it right here in your hands. Do they sweat like mine? Do they shake like mine? Do they drop things all the time?

Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe this is my bane. I suppose I am exposed. It feels kinda good though. See me here.

I remember the Little House on the Prairie episode when Mary, blinded by fever, starts getting serious with her future husband. She takes his face in her hands and says, “Let me look at you.” That scene is so uncomfortable to watch, but really it is sacred and intimate in its rawness. Mary feels the grooves of his cheekbones, where his nose turns up, how his eyelashes flutter, the shape of who she loves.

You cannot paint the scars I bear. I cannot write how your tears sting. I see what you show me, and I ask for the truth. I have decided to remember my pain, not to give it power over me, but to tend to the gashes. I want to know what they look like, so when I see you hurt, I can tell you I know.  I will mean it because it will be the truth. Mine and yours.

Maybe real self-love looks different than we think. It looks like caring about other people. It is being where I am, so I can bring you with me. So I can love you.

Walk with me a little ways

Before I have to start

Talk to me and tell me

Where you go – your favorite part

Tell me little things and big things

And all that’s in between

Just be with me and hear me

Tell me what you see

You are seen. Wholly. And what is more, you have been known since time began. It is only in Christ we can both hide and be found. I have this notion that in Eden, the walks with God were the most saturated taste of paradise. That pure freedom that comes from belonging. I know our garden is not as lush, and nothing really compares, but we are walking together. And Eden is not that far.

"Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being, and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart." // Psalm 51:6

Suzannah // @suz_joy

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