I think people are a little worried about me. Since I’ve started writing again, I realize that all I’ve been writing about are my inner battles, which I think are pretty good fodder. The struggle, the problems, the figuring it out…that’s what’s at the heart of every good story. That’s why we watch movies and read books, to see how other people have made it through (or not). Even though we’d say it’s about entertainment, I think most of the time it’s about trying to find someone else who is struggling the same way we are and came out okay or even more than okay (there is hope!).

I’m pretty much okay. I’m just being honest about life as it is. I think most everyone will agree. We’re all pretty much okay. We are all struggling with stuff: family stuff, work stuff, relationship stuff, figuring-out-my-life stuff, health stuff, faith stuff. Everyone has their thing. It may seem as though some people don’t have a thing, but that’s simply because they are good actors. And if someone says they don’t have a “thing,” they are lying. This is one of the most important things I have learned since becoming a “grown-up.”

When I was a child, I was fearless. Very bold and smart and driven and active, with a hot, hot temper. I had a fierce sense of right and wrong. And then I hit adolescence.

When I hit adolescence, I began to think that I was all wrong. I was too tall and skinny with no curves, not even calves to hold up my socks (I have very clear memories of my trendy knee-length athletic socks drooped sadly around my ankles. I didn’t want huge boobs. I had bigger problems. I just wanted calves to hold up my socks). My conscience was sensitive, so I wouldn’t talk back or slack off or ditch responsibility. I also felt different. I felt too old, like a forty-year-old in a fourteen-year-old’s body. Who I was on the inside didn’t match up with who I needed to be on the outside to be “cool.” Plus, I was scared crapless of boys. Zero idea of how to talk to them.

I added up all these things in my head, over and over again, and realized that I was not pretty or cool and had little hope of ever being so. I decided that I was just plain “wrong.” I lost my boldness and fearlessness, I lost my confidence, and I lost my voice. This ushered in years of feeling unbearably self-conscious, hardly able to answer a question in class without blushing. I lowered my expectations of everything. I was surprised when anyone wanted to be my friend. I dated hardly anyone.

This part of my story makes me sad. Because I look back and realize that nothing about me was “wrong,” only the fact that I had put myself in this category. Convincing myself that I was “wrong” held me back from many good things. Feeling this way made me pretend to be things I was not. I learned how to be an actor, composing the outside of myself to hide everything that I thought was wrong or weird on the inside.When I first starting dating my husband, I was literally waiting for the moment when he would find the real me and go running. Certainly someone this cool and together could not love me.

But he did. He loved me, and in a lot of ways, this was a new beginning for me. About this time, I also met some really good, supportive friends. All these new people in my life seemed to like me. They were happy for me when I was happy. They invited me to stuff. They laughed at my jokes. I began to realize that I was maybe okay. I got a little of my mojo back.

I had so much more figured out when I was a child. I was the person God made me, because I hadn’t learned how to pretend. It hadn’t yet occurred to me to want to be someone else. I was trusting and open. I marvel at this now in my own children. Hearts on their sleeves, questions on their lips. So much personality to behold.

But then I hit adolescence. Suddenly I had this over-abundance of self-conscienceness, brought on by my awkward, growing, morphing body. I had this knowledge of people not just being different, but “right” or “wrong” or “well-liked” or “weird.” I had zero confidence. I began to think that if I wore the right clothes or knew the right people or was uber-successful, I would fit in and be “okay.” Or at least, I could fool people into thinking this. Any kind of acceptance or “rightness” was enough for me.

I’ve spent the last twenty or so years trying to get back to the child that I once was: bold, fearless, strong, trusting, unhampered by self-conscienceness. First, I tried to be something else by pretending and acting. Now I’m learning how to let down my guard and just be me.

I’m trying to do this because that’s who God made me to be. I want to be who God made me to be. I think when I get there, I’ll have a lot of peace, because my insides will match my outsides.

Honesty brings relief. Honesty brings peace. I know this because some of the most okay people I know are some of the most honest people I know. Plus, God tells me that I’m fearfully and wonderfully made. And mostly importantly, he loves me…me! The little one he created 32 years ago, the fearless child, the cowering teen, the always-learning adult, the recovering adolescent. The one he died to save. The one he wants to spend eternity with.