“Owning your story is the bravest thing you’ll ever do.”
Brene Brown
I remember in kindergarten the girl sitting next to me pinching my thigh, calling me fat. I remember thinking she was right. It taught me to not like who I was and change just so I could fit in. I learnt though over the years other peoples pinches – word or physical – don’t actually matter. It just took a really long time to figure it out.
I remember when I was a kid I used to do physical culture. I kind of hated it to be honest, but I am such an over achiever I stuck to it with rigid precision. Except for the moment I slid mid corner turn and sprawled my little leotard butt in the air across the floor mid competition. Eyes all on me, my first public scene of failure. I got back up and continued like I had either meant to do it or it never happened. It taught me to just get back up again.
I remember as a teenager wanting to die because no one could ever love me for who I really was – over the top, loud and extremely emotional. I learnt I needed to find ways to express myself, so I wrote poetry, which over the year became songs. And I fell in love with Jesus. He taught me to find my inner voice and see He loves me completely.
I remember the first time I worship led, when my experienced co-leader (and future mentor) bailed five minutes before rehearsal because her little kids were sick. I was awkward but I loved to sing, and I loved Jesus. I wondered how I’d survive. Then I did. It taught me resilience in the first of many deep end moments and revealed to me this would be the starting point for my calling. I also learnt I could rise above or sink, it was my choice.
I remember moving out in my twenties with my high school best friend, and it being an absolute disaster. I ended up finding a granny flat and lived on my own for 18 months. I learnt I liked my own company. It taught me how to value time with myself.
I remember the ENT doctor saying the nodules were still there after six months of “trying” to rest my voice. I learnt I didn’t know how to rest and that I found my identity in doing. I ended up quitting my job as a preschool teacher (which I loved deeply) and dreaming again. It taught me to stay true to the call: become a worship pastor. I learnt I could in fact be accepted into a course, go to university, and that I wasn’t as dumb as I felt I was. I learnt to stretch in ways I could never have imagined.
I remember when we were walking along the cliffs and my boyfriend pulls out a ring after seven years of dating and FINALLY asking me to marry him. We ended our night under a sky lit by stars dreaming of our futures together and the story we would write. He taught me endurance, incredible patience and that waiting isn’t always forever. I learnt work happens in the waiting, and I’m not the only one being refined in the process.
I remember the rejection just before leading worship after I asked a friend how she was doing and she shut me down because she was hurting. I remember leading through it wounded. I’d bought her a birthday present I would have loved to have kept for myself. But the promptings kept hitting me. I gave it to her anyway even when I felt I’d lost her. It taught me to love beyond reason, not everything is about me. It taught me to extend a grace I didn’t know existed with me, even when it hurt.
I remember the first glance of my husband as I walked down the isle, and holding onto my Dad’s arm as we tried to find our rhythm while my heels sank into the grass. We laughed as he let me go. It taught me take in the moment and to cherish what you have.
I remember the moments sitting on our rental property lawn hand picking weeds like it made a difference as I began emptying my brain from overload and yearning to be in a house of our own, have a family of our own with our little puppy. It taught me I need space to process my thoughts, I learnt time in the garden is good for my soul, it reminded me to dream again and leave my thoughts in the wind.
I remember the moment our alarms went off in sync mid session at a young adults retreat to go give myself the first IVF injection. It taught me to grieve over the way things ought to be, or perhaps should’ve been but weren’t mine to walk in. I learnt this wasn’t failure. I learnt I wasn’t alone. It taught me to begin sharing my story.
I remember the smell of his hair at 4am, his big wide open chocolate eyes awake with wonder to start the day. I learnt to appreciate just us time and adapt to new rhythms. It also taught me to sleep in my exercise gear and make the most of the first hour of our day. I learnt to look after my body like I never had before.
I remember the moment we adopted a rescue dog whilst I was 30 odd weeks pregnant with our second child. We deliberated whether we should or shouldn’t, I learnt some choices we just get to make, not every single moment counts towards our calling or purpose. Some decisions in life are just for making. We chose well.
I remember the moment I ran on the treadmill at the gym stopping five minutes in because the weight of all I was carrying and hiding was too heavy, I wept in the shower; loud, exposed and ugly. I learnt I couldn’t keep up, and that I was literally running from the depths of my soul.
I remember breaking down in the doctors office for the third time and her saying, “You have post natal depression”, whilst my 18 month old and 3 year old played next to me unaware of my world shattering. I learnt my story is complicated. And that’s okay.
I remember the moment when I had to own my story. It felt terrifying and freeing all at once. It taught me we all carry baggage and if I can share mine perhaps others won’t feel trapped like I did. It taught me no one is perfect, including me. I learnt to let go of the narrative I desperately wanted and to accept the one that was being written by Him.
There are moments you just cannot plan. Those are the moments you’ll remember forever. Those are the moments that make your story yours. Treasure them. Learn to like them. Own them. Tell them.
until next time… xox