Making Peace With Christmas

I wish I didn’t want. I wish family didn’t mean so much to me. I wish I was the strong, fiercely independent, insensitive person I pretend to be… But I’m not… or at least in the moment I don’t feel like I am. Here’s a deep, dark secret for you… I’m actually quit a sensitive person. I have to soul of an artist, everything is taken to heart. I may bounce it straight from my heart into a tightly sealed box, but it first hits the heart.

Christmas is a hard season. It’s a hard season for many people. Every year it does get better for me, but it is still difficult. Against all my valiant attempts, I find myself harboring emotions of loneliness and desires for better relationships. I suppose a want for self-improvement isn’t a bad thing but still… Aside from all the lovey dovey family and forced warm-feeling crap of this season, what is Christmas truly about? It’s about acknowledging and being grateful for the birth of a sacrifice and be birth of an epic love story.

All I know to do on this day is to focus on those things. It’s so easy to get lost in a self-pitied mantra but how ethnocentric is that? In order to make peace with this troublesome time of year, in order to make peace with Christmas I must make peace with the fact that CHRISTMAS IS NOT ABOUT ME. Now there’s a revelation. Christmas is not about the fact that I grew up in a crappy family, it’s about the birth of Christ. (Duh, me, duh…. What an embarrassing reminder.)

So… Thank you Jesus for entering this earth in such a way that allowed me to be able to better relate to you. Thank you for allowing yourself to be born while understanding that meant you were also choosing to allow yourself to die… All for the chance that I might turn to follow you. Thank you Lord. Merry Christmas.

Counting On Me

tumblr_m7p5tjhpyo1rbwt73o1_500Aaaa! I’m so frustrated today.  When you don’t know what you’re missing, you don’t know what you’re missing.  Obvious statement I know, but it’s become all too close to the forefront of my mind today.  To be cared for, to be loved… you might as well be speaking Dutch.  I don’t think I know a single word of Dutch.  In the same, I only speak a few words of this language people call “love.”  I just don’t understand it.  I want to understand it, but I don’t.  Life was much simpler when I lived in isolation– when I took care of myself, never asking for help, never looking for community support.  I’m not saying it was a better life, but it was simpler.

As I continue to heal, as I continue to become “healthier,” I learn more and more about what I haven’t had.  An ache that we’re all born with is being reignited in my soul.  A desire to be taken care of, protected, loved, appreciated and honored is long since something I’ve done away with.  Those desires have been safely suffocated by years of neglectful layers.  I had all but fully convinced my fiercely independent self that I had absolutely no need for such childish aspirations.

Yet… here comes God and His crafty intervention, ever asking for personal improvement.  With the community I have now, I find myself getting tastes of what I’ve missed, and I find myself wanting more.  Dammit.  Against all my dedicated attempts, I find myself wanting love.  I remember the specific moment in my life when I promised myself I would never desire such a vulnerable thing again.  I had been hurt, rejected, let down and taken advantage of for an infinite number of times and I decided at that point to be totally self-soothing.  I would never again need any help from any person, no care, no acceptance of affection from another human being ever again.  I had me and that was all I knew I could handle.  “Me” was the only person I knew I could count on.  “Me” was the only entity that I thought wouldn’t cause me pain.

Fast forward to today and I find myself faced with quite the contradiction.  My heart wants to be cared for but my mind does not trust it.  It’s torture.  I also realize the confusing dichotomy that rules which applied to my old life, do not necessarily apply to my new life…. meaning that because people could not be trusted then, does not mean that people cannot be trusted now.  They’re not the same people, I’m not the same person… really, nothing is the same.  Yet, I still find myself fighting.  I want to spend an hour in the hug of a friend I trust, and yet I will literally hate myself for even the want to do so.

And so my journey continues.

May this blog serve as an education to those who do not yet know or understand the atrocities of trafficking and may it serve as an encouragement to those who understand it all too well.

(Post originally written 12/05/12)

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