Seeing and Seeing Again

“In a sense, as we are creative beings, our lives become our work of art.” 

– Julia Cameron

Dear friends,

I was nearly halfway through my 20s and I continued to believe that I was ugly, lower than dirt, matronly, and to put it crudely – but truthfully – a piece of shit. Until then, I clothed myself with oversized T-shirts and pants. I usually kept my hair pulled back, which created a daily problem for me: hair pulled back was controlled but revealed the face; leaving my thick, long hair down was annoying but hid my face. Neither solution felt comfortable. I did not wear jewelry because it felt too frivolous, though I wore a watch because it was functional.

Until my mid-20s, I was mostly oblivious to the way I carried myself. Every now and then, someone would point out my appearance to me, but the comments confused me more than helped me. For instance, one time a friend told me I was beautiful. I stared back at her and emphatically replied, “No, not me. I don’t see it.”

Several months ago, I rediscovered a box of my childhood photographs. I found pictures of me posing with my date before a high school dance, visiting with relatives on my trips to Arizona, and playing in front of my childhood home. Upon looking at these photographs, I was struck by two things: First, I never realized how many photographs actually existed of me. I suppose I had written myself off long ago. And not only did I stop looking at photographs of myself, but I also stopped looking at myself in the mirror – like really look: the kind of look where you register blemishes, the curvature of the body, and the color of the eyes. I suppose this is why I had no concept of “size” until my 20s.

The second thing that stuck out to me when I perused through the box of pictures was that I was (am) quite beautiful. I remember when there was a time when I had all the boys clamoring after me, but as soon as my brother turned physically, emotionally, and verbally abusive, I consciously rejected all attention for a good 15 years.

The height of my “perceived ugliness” coincided with the height of my healing journey, a journey characterized by authentic grieving, lashing out, and trying to find some resemblance of myself. This process included severe depression – a normal response to trauma. During this period (and though I always said it would never come to this), I hated myself so much that the only solution I thought I had was to relieve my pain: I tried to commit suicide. The experience was surreal, and I was only able do such an act by “splitting” and then watching the “other” try to kill her.

I suppose we never know who we are until it is taken away from us. The husband is not a husband without a wife; the writer is not a writer without an audience; the person is not a person without a soul. This suicide attempt was the conversion I needed to begin to see myself in a new way: as beautiful, lovely, worth it. The suicide attempt also became the catalyst to go from asking “Who am I?” to “What is my life purpose?” In other words, it went from “getting my life together” to “giving my life away” (Horsman, 2009).

Growing up I figured that “losing my life” required that I give away all my possessions, shave my head, and behave piously. Basically, I thought that the ultimate way to please God was to become an empty shell of a woman. Yet, in the six years since my suicide attempt (it feels like 20), my perspective has changed about my early interpretation of “losing my life.” Now, I believe that one cannot give away her life until she has it. She has got to know what she is giving away – she has to count the cost – and the giving away has got to be done freely.

All great leaders must experience this conversion experience (which is typically experienced in the young adult stage, though not limited to it). Otherwise, those who skip the conversion stage will find themselves restless, rebellious, and constantly running from relationships. I suppose this is why few monks who enter the monastic life as a young adult actually remain in the monastery for life. They have not found their lives in order to give it away.

The mark of a great leader is in the giving away of one’s life: putting others first, representing the whole, acting with integrity, not playing favorites, remaining humble. The great leader does not live in denial, with an arrogant attitude, or in false humility. He is living authentically and transparently before all. And he is able to agree with the truth, even if it puts himself in a negative light.

The journey from the point of crisis six years ago until today has been full of highs, lows, surprises, and disappointments. I have seen and seen again, choosing an alternative future of possibility, hope, love, and transformation. I am choosing to change the relationship with the past in order to change the future story. I am neither finished nor will ever be until I meet Jesus face to face, but I can safely say that I am living out who I really am: beautiful and broken.

Now I can give my beauty away.

A.

Horsman, J. H. (2009). The Journey of Life & the 12 Steps of Humility. Spokane, WA: Gonzaga University.