Fragile

Fragile - Easily broken or damaged or destroyed.

The lie is that we are weak. For whatever reason its easier to align ourselves with the ignorant assumption that addiction consumes those who are lazy, selfish, and unmotivated than it is to see that fighting takes courage. Perhaps its the shame. Perhaps its my own pride. Regardless I find myself embodying a false persona in a desperate attempt to be something other than the person I am. I stop writing. I stop connecting with the friends around me. I run deep into the dungeon of my heart and try to bury the monster that threatens to steal more and more from me everyday. And when I can't smile and laugh through the environmental and emotional cues I lecture myself, assuming a lack of grace and compassion will train me to become the person those around me could love.

You see the shame is so deeply rooted. I have this picture of them woman I am supposed to be and I am constantly comparing myself to her...picking apart every single difference and wondering how to deny what is and find the way to become like her. The biggest problem however is that she isn't real. She never was. She is just an innocent picture in my head...a picture drawn by a child without the real life experience to comprehend that our dreams don't always come true. I was supposed to go college, meet the man of my dreams and get married. I would then naturally get my dream job and work until the day we decided to have children. Then I would be a stay at home mom, be a mentor and motivational speak on the side, and live happily ever after. But it didn't work out that way. It didn't even come close. So I state at this dream, this picturesque life and wonder where I went wrong...and wonder if there is ever a chance for redemption.

The thing that I miss on a daily basis is that my experiences and my struggles don't make me "less than" everyone else around me. They don't make me "less than" this woman I dreamed of being. In fact, though I would never admit it, I think it might just be the opposite. I know woman, amazing women, who have been to hell and back. They battle demons that no one on this earth should ever have to fight. Each and everyday they face nightmares that would make the most cold and composed cringe...rightfully so. Some of them have struggled with drugs and alcohol. Some of them starve to numb out the pain. Some of them cut themselves and have sold their bodies for money. But hear me when I say they are stronger and more beautiful than countless others who are living out the idealized perfection we all strive to become. I am not glorifying addiction. I think addiction in an of itself is easy. For those with deep wounds and broken hearts it isn't a pass time or an adventure. It isn't enjoyable. But its comfortable. And lets just be honest. For a time, it works. Or else why would we do it? But the strength I am talking about is the courage that comes with the fight. I have encountered a lot of people in my treatment experiences. There are a couple different types of people. There are those who fight, relapse, and because its hard or its uncomfortable or its exhausting (which it is all of those things), they lay down and die. They decide life has given them more than they can handle and the rest of the world is to blame...so they keep using, keep starving, keep drowning away the hurt in their drug of choice...until death itself consumes them. But then there are those who fight like hell, relapse, and then stand back up and keep fighting. You look into their eyes and you can see how deep the pain runs. They won't make eye contact. They smile and laugh and go out of their way to do anything they can to help you. They would give you the shirt off their back if you asked for it...only because they have been used and abused until their voice is but a whisper...a whisper that is blatantly ignored when audible.

I was watching Greys anatomy this week and there was as scene that inspired most of this rant. Watch and you will hopefully see where I am going with this...




I get so passionate because it is so easy to look at my life and look in the mirror and see my struggle and to see failure. And I do see failure. Everyday I think about how far I am from the dream I had for myself and all I want is to find a magic reset button. But the longer I search for that magic button the longer it will take me to look at my God, my Jesus, and to ask Him to help me become the woman He created me to be. He clearly didn't create me to live out the plan I envisioned...clearly we have a different vantage point of what perfection in my life looks like. If success was measured by courage then I would know some of the most successful people to grace this earth. Strength isn't measured by the car we drive or the fairytale we live in. Strength comes everyday as we surrender our broken hearts and lives into the care of the almighty God. It comes as we take a baby step towards learning to trust again. Because to have survived hell. To go back to visit it every night in your dreams. To smell it on the Cologne of a man who bumps into you as he hurries by. To day in and day out have triggers of a past that won't let you be and to keep living...to keep fighting...that is courage.

What appears to be fragile may often be deceiving. Recovery is delicate...but the survivor is far, far from fragile.