Numb

I often struggle with the thought of what to post, what not to post, how much to reveal about the inner workings of my personal life to the intimate group of friends I call the internet.  I often get really uncomfortable and annoyed by those people who feel the need to reveal every intimate detail of their life on the interwebs and I certainly wouldn't want to be one of those people.  At the same time, there is a certain catharsis that comes from putting my thoughts into words.  Of course, thank goodness I do have some discretion, or I'd probably have FAR fewer friends.  Sometimes I think that the thoughts and ideas that I have are not unique, but shared by many (especially other SAHMs) but we just lack the courage to open our mouth and be honest. 

Recently, I've been engaged in an inner battle.  Things in our lives have been tumultuous, to say the least.  I won't bore you with the details, but it's been a REALLY hard few months, with more fog on the horizon.  After spending weeks strung out on nerves and way too much caffeine, I think I just sorta turned it all off.  I'm not sure when it happened exactly, or why, but a certain numbness has set in. 

Numbness is such a strange and fascinating phenomenon.  I'm highly familiar with it.  Three years ago, I lost feeling on my left side, and it's not returned.  Over the last 3 years I have experienced numbness that has come and go in various parts of my body.  When this first occurred, it was frustrating and troublesome, and confusing.  I felt like I was losing my mind all of the time.  We would laugh at my clumsiness as I would try to put my hand in my pocket, only to be halted by my wayward pinky sticking out because I couldn't feel that it hadn't made it into the pocket as well.  We had scary experiences, where I burned myself on the stove or the iron, because I didn't detect the heat on my left arm, or ran bathwater too hot for the girls, because I tested it with the wrong hand.  I say all of this to explain the feeling--or lack of feeling.  We've all had that moment when our foot has fallen asleep from sitting cross legged for too long, but this is different.  When an appendage falls asleep, it's numb, but almost with a heightened sense of feeling.  This is a complete lack of feeling.  Imagine, looking at your arm as if you're watching someone else perform the task that you know you're completing--present but completely absent in the situation in which you are a player. 

In recent weeks, this numbness has transcended the physical into the emotional.  Where the goal of thriving is far too removed and function is all you can muster.  It isn't like things have gotten exponentially more difficult in this time, or that any specific new developments have unfolded, it just sorta happened.  Yesterday, as I sat on the couch, feeling completely apathetic about life, and allowing Emily to watch way more television than typical, it dawned on me that I had merely become a player in my own life, but had begun to lack the initiative to be the director.  This is a terrifying realization.  I began to think over the last few weeks and some of the decisions that I've made, and I realized that so many of them were strictly an attempt to feel--anything.

Two weeks ago, we threw a birthday party for a friend.  She was turning 20 and at the party she asked, "What's the best advice you can offer me for my 20s?"  Little did she know how much I was wrestling with this thought for the last several weeks.  I immediately piped up and said, "Don't rush it!"  I never realized how much I had rushed my life until I was talking to a friend about a week prior.  My friend mentioned the challenges of working while going to school, and I thought about my senior year of college.  I was taking 18 hours at school, working 2 jobs, getting married, and pregnant, all at 21!  I did so much, perhaps I set a precedent for myself--an expectation of sorts.  Here, 6 years later, when marriage is comfortable, the decision has been made that we're done having children, I'm a stay at home mom, and life is on coast mode--I feel like I'm lacking something.  The urge is to be reckless, impulsive, make bad decisions--make ANY decisions, just to feel something, to have something to be excited about again.  While I know there's no hope for my arm, I can only desperately cling to the hope that something will ignite me mentally again.

Teaching the Teacher

One of my roles in youth ministry is to lead a small group for middle school girls.  Our small group meets on Wednesday evenings, and early this week I was thinking about the girls in my group and thinking about the concept of beauty.  Before I even had looked over the materials for what I was to cover this week, I started thinking about our society and the messages of beauty that we convey to our young people.  

In nature, specifically with birds, the male is always the more attractive bird, by comparison.  This is because the males know they cannot reproduce on their own and need to attract a mate.  The males are often more brightly colored, and get very “puffed” up, sing mating songs and try to attract the female.  When I think of humans, it’s completely different.  Somewhere there was a breakdown.  Everywhere I go, even to pick up my daughter from school, I see women utilizing every “tool” at their disposal to garner the attention of men.  The necklines plunge lower, the hemlines creep higher, the makeup gets thicker, salon fees go up.  What has happened?  When did we as women devalue ourselves so deeply that we will physically give ourselves away for the sake of acceptance??  

I was musing over these thoughts when I sat down to prepare for our lesson, which was on the topic of “Who I am NOT.”  The lesson spoke to the girls about how God doesn’t want us to strive to win the approval of people, but of Him.  Even as adults, this is such a poignant message.  I think specifically adult women and their handbags.  I could never rationalize spending several hundred dollars on a designer bag.  This is not something that I see the value in.  Largely because I change my mind and opinion so often, I wouldn’t be content to carry the bag long enough to “get my money’s worth” (which in my opinion would be something like 10 years!)  Yet, I look around at these women (and even teenage girls) carrying Coach purses and I scratch my head.  In most cases these bags are not exceptionally attractive, or more so than a bag that could be purchased for a fraction of the cost.  I have to assume it’s a position of acceptance.  Whether or not this is a conscious mentality is of little consequence.  The fact is that somewhere along the lines someone somehow conveyed the message that “you’re better if you carry a designer bag.”  

As I was preparing and sharing this message with the girls in my group, and thinking about the verse in 1 Samuel 16:7 that says, “The Lord doesn’t see things the way you see them.  People judge by outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”  This got me thinking about my own insecurities and the messages that I share.  Even before we left for church on Wednesday, both of my girls had fallen to tears because they didn’t think they looked “cute” enough in what they were wearing.  They were worried that their friends would think it was “ugly.”  Again, I stood aghast because the messages that they have been lead to believe are that appearance is everything.  My heart ached, and I wondered how much of that I was at fault for.  As someone in the fitness industry a tremendous amount of attention is given to physical appearance.  Every gym in the country focuses on looking better.  The focus of fitness should be health, not appearance, but the fact is that we’re lead to believe that health is secondary.  I like to try and convince myself that is my motivation, and initially it was, but now, when my nutrition falls off, or  I start to slack on my workouts, it’s always the reflection in the mirror that gets me back on track, not some health effects. 

How different would things be if I actually followed this message that I tried to convey to my students—finding our beauty and value in God?  This is something that I’ve struggled with a lot.  I’ve done a few Bible studies that have focused on this.  I’ve attended several seminars, I’ve shared this message with young girls for as long as I can remember, but it’s still a struggle.   Maybe it’s because this message wasn’t shared with me until I was an adult.  As a child I was always overweight, which is part of my obsessive focus on my weight, but as an overweight child I was always receiving the message that I was less valuable.  Boys would act disgusted if they found out that I liked them.  Girls would make fun of my adult clothes that I had to wear because when I was growing up, there weren’t child plus sized clothing.  The point is that I had already been so indoctrinated with the messages that if you aren’t thin and pretty, you aren’t worthwhile, that as an adult, hearing messages counter to that were difficult to believe and accept.  I think this emphasizes the importance of teaching our young people, especially girls, to know their value in Christ.  To share this message young, and often to ensure that they internalize it, believe it and carry it though their lives.  It’s equally as important to teach our young boys that a girl is more than her appearance and how to treat them with respect.  Maybe at some point, we can shift this attitude and mentality to have the self confidence to keep our bodies covered and our self-esteem high.

The Journey to a Shaved Head

A few months ago, I was sitting in a youth service when two beautiful young ladies came into the room.  One of these young girls was in a wheel chair.  I knew nothing of these girls, I didn’t know their story, their names or even who they arrived with, but my heart went out to them.  Not in a sympathetic, I feel so bad for her being in a wheel chair sort of way, but in a compassionate, heartfelt, I love these girls sort of way.  

About 2 weeks went by and I hadn’t thought much else about these girls.  I hadn’t seen them and I’d been preoccupied with the business of my own life, when I was asked if a woman named Sharon could contact me and tell me a little about these girls.  Of course my response was an immediate “yes.”  Sharon contacted me via email and connected me with website managed by their mom where I could read their story and daily challenges.  I quickly learned that there were more children in the family and they all struggled with similar medical disorders that have tremendous impact on the brain and basic function.  I sat at my computer for nearly 3 hours, tears streaming down my face as I read these blog entries, over and over, trying to make sense of it all, and feeling so insignificant.  I sat and I prayed, and I looked at my two perfect little girls and I cried and it didn’t seem fair.  This poor mother struggling with all of her children, why was I blessed with such an “easy” route??  

I looked through the pictures and I thought about these sweet children especially these pre-teen girls who had to shave their heads for their brain surgeries.  I thought about myself as a pre-teen girl and how devastating that would have been for me.  I thought about myself now, how much vanity is tied up in my hair; how much time is spent fussing over it in the mirror, how much money is spent on expensive shampoos, conditioners and styling products, or time and money at the salon.  How much emphasis I place on fixing my girls’ hair “just right.”  I felt sick.  What vanity!  How much had I invested into something so trivial?  What kind of message was I sending to my daughters?  I thought about these girls, and I wanted to love them.  These girls didn’t know me.  They’d never heard my name.  They probably didn’t even see me across that dark youth room several months ago.  I wanted to know what it was like.  I wanted to feel the vulnerability of not having the superficiality of a pretty head of hair to rely on.  I wanted to shave my head. 

I struggled with this thought.  I was fighting my own insecurities.  I wanted to shave my head but I was fearful of what that would mean.  I was fearful of how I’d be responded to.  I was fearful of how my husband would respond to me.  How would I explain that I wanted to completely alter my appearance for complete strangers?  I dropped hints at the idea.  I wanted to see how people would respond.  Sitting at the dinner table one evening with my family and best friend, I said, “I think I’m going to shave my head.”  I was met with overwhelming opposition.  I didn’t know how to explain to them WHY I wanted to do it.  My husband pleaded with me, not to shave my head, and so I didn’t…

Two weeks later—more vanity.  On a whim, my husband and I decided to dye my hair.  I wanted something different, he wanted to see how I’d look with dark locks.  When we were finished with our evening experiment, my bathroom was a speckled mess and I was devastated.  What was supposed to be brown came out jet black.  I became obsessed with trying to fix it.  I spent hours staring in the mirror, trying to figure if it was better straight, maybe if I twisted it this way, or fixed my makeup that way…ugh, I’m just going to re-dye it.  So I went and bought more hair dye.  My mom and I spent another 2 hours trying to dye it, and style it, my recently assaulted scalp was burning from all of the chemicals, and the result was exactly the same.  At this point I was obsessed, and then in a moment it all became crystal clear.  You are more than hair.  These girls are more than hair.  So much time, energy, money and emotion has been wasted over something so superficial—cut it off.  I said it, and everyone gasped.  At that point it no longer mattered.  I knew why I had to do it.  It wasn’t because of the hair dye, it wasn’t because of anything but standing up and affirming within myself that my value is more than my appearance.  

As Alex left to pick Michaela up from school and Emily was contentedly playing with dinosaurs in her room, I parted my hair into 4 pony tails and I lifted the scissors to it.  My heart was racing as contemplated, not doing it, but then I made the first cut and the second, and the third, and the fourth.  I stood there with a mess of odd lengthed hairs all over my head and then I picked up the clippers.  There was no going back.  I started to shave, and I started to cry.  I cried because all at once I knew what it felt like to no longer feel like a girl and I knew what these two girls felt.  As I stepped from the bathroom with a bag full of my hair, my beautiful 3 year old daughter looked up at me and started to cry.  Through sobs, she told me to “put your hair back on mommy, you look like a boy!” I knew I made the right decision.  I’d been teaching her all wrong!

When Alex got home, he was upset.  Michaela didn’t say a word.  At dinner, he wouldn’t look at me.  He didn’t kiss me, or hold me as we went to sleep that night.  He said, “At least you still have a pretty face.”  He didn’t understand why I made the decision, and I didn’t know how to tell him.  The next morning, at breakfast, Michaela still hadn’t commented on my hair.  Knowing that I was about to take her to school and be seen by all of her friends, I wanted to be sensitive of my child’s feelings.  I asked her what she thought about my hair and if she was ok with her friends seeing me without any hair, and immediately she started to sob.  “No, mommy, it looks weird, will you PLEASE wear a hat when you take me to school?!”  I too had been teaching her all wrong.

The next few days I was frequently asked if I was crazy, or I “pulled a Brittany” no one knew the real reason.  I didn’t think that they’d understand how strangers had such an impact on my heart, and why I’d shave my head for a family who had never seen me and didn’t even know my name.  The response was mostly positive.  “Well, you have a good head shape for it”  “I’m surprised, you still look very feminine”  “Wow, you’re brave.”  When it came out on Facebook, I finally revealed the real reason, or as best as I could in a few words of a status.  I was overwhelmed with praise and encouragement and positive words and thoughts, “likes” and gratitude.  I met the family virtually.  They gave me such positive reinforcement.  They wrote kind words about me and praised me for what I’d done.  I became the “talk” of the web, and all of a sudden I felt like it was all wrong.  I didn’t do it for fame, I didn’t do it for attention, or praise.  I did it because of a deep conviction.  

I had been so afraid of how everyone would respond to me that I felt like I had to be honest about my motives.  I thought that maybe if they knew why I did it, they wouldn’t think I was crazy, they could look past the glare coming off of my scalp—and most could.  The truth is though, this society is superficial.  I get stared at everywhere I go.  And even though there is no way I could ever understand the physical pain that these children deal with daily, I think I’ve had a glimpse at the emotional pain, because the truth is, people don’t relate to me the same way, and no matter how much it is said that people support me, or are proud of me, I’m still the “freak” in the room—and for them, I’m ok with that.