There was a time when I was that bossy kid on the playground. It was kindergarten and I was enamored by the pink Power Ranger, Kimberly. Her cuteness. Her toughness. I wanted to be her. So, to no surprise, I would rouse my play companions into a game of Power Rangers during recess. I very distinctly remember sliding down a chute to stand up on the level edge of it, look down at the little boy who I had chosen as my victim, poise myself to launch a lethal jumping kick, and screech out some sort of battle cry. He ran away crying. I got in trouble and shamefully stood in timeout, looking down, half-understanding what I did wrong. This is the oldest memory I have of public shame, and it has stuck with me as if super-glued to my back. I can laugh at it, but I believe those sort of experiences of feeling ashamed fed my natural disposition of not wanting to upset another person, for fear or shame, or rejection.

A shift occurred around first grade when I suddenly turned inward on myself, every failure, mistake, or sin was glued on to me, creating a garment of shame. I became cautious of people, not wanting them to see me, one that crouched hiding shamefully in the corner still ruminating on that time that I cheated on the minute math test. I began to self punish as a way to diminish the need to talk things through with others. I was accountable only to me. I could control how people saw me.

I fiercely defended this impression management into my young adult years. I was that quiet, compliant good girl who listened to everything the teacher said, rarely talked back or disagreed with her parents, got the highest marks, volunteered as a leader in youth group, always said “yes”. In my efforts to maintain an appearance of being “okay”, I kept up these activities to prove my worth to others, and most importantly, to convince myself I was okay, and to do what I thought I needed to do to be worthy of God’s love. I did not know every action stemmed from a core belief of hating myself and thinking myself dirty and tainted.

I didn’t share alternative opinions. I did not voice my true needs. I amended my needs to be what I presumed that person could conveniently help with… I changed myself for others, thus I changed with the wind. All of this resulted in my becoming so timid, that when the waitress was coming around to take orders, I would rehearse what I was going to say in my head, I don’t want to come off as scared, so I need to say it this way, or order this thing to make so and so think such and such… sweat would build on my forehead as the waitress approached and I would push the words through my mouth carefully and nervously, “I want the fajitas” as if we whole confidence hung upon it.

That was a silly example, but this is just the extent to which I would hide myself away. As a result, I also became averse to conflict and confrontation. I couldn’t handle argument without bursting into tears, though most of the time I would stay silent and stew in resentment. I would not reach out to others for help, thinking the things I was struggling with in my teenage years were shameful and would reveal my weakness. Then, perhaps, they would see the real me that hid behind the facade. I couldn’t let that happen. I was in it alone. I needed to figure it out alone. Prove to my self I was strong.

When I entered college, and started mingling with all sorts of people outside of my normal circles, I began to notice how stunted I was at living among people in a community authentically. I encountered truly authentic people that, when they looked at me, were truly looking at me. None of my rehearsed items or spiels would convince them… I could do nothing but end the conversation and leave, feeling utterly disturbed. I began opening up more to certain people, but there would always be a point where the relationship would plateau… all the things I’ve shared with them that were about me, about my past, what God has done in my life had been said… I wasn’t truly open to inviting others into my current process. That was where I drew the line. I have to figure it out, polish it up, make sense of it before I share, or else I’ll sound crazy, I’ll sound weak, I’ll sound evil…

I entered therapy upon the recalling of a traumatic memory from about the time I was in first grade. Everything began to make sense as I realized an inner sense of self-hatred, blame, and worthlessness led to the progression of being myself as God intended loud and proud, to being simply a shell with a scared little girl hiding inside. I realized that I had essentially been changing myself for people because I was scared of them, scared to let them in to see all the brokenness, doubt, and ugliness. So I kept up an image to protect myself and ensure everyone, including myself, that I was okay. Once I realized what I had done, I was devastated… who am I anyways? What do I need?

This is where the “reversal” began: the journey of finding my voice again after it has been hidden away since my youth. This blog is my chance at utter vulnerability… I cringe when I read my old blogs because I was always trying so hard to be someone else, prove to myself that I was okay, or that I was better. I hope to instead come from the position of a sinner saved by grace, in continual, desperate need of a Savior.

As I have continued this journey I have realized this “reversal” has been rocky and I have gone to utter extremes, adopted victim mentalities, and been downright rude…

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-Bethany