February 25, 2013

A Gesture & a Pose

i carry weights that i cannot bear.
i foster all of the wrong words at all of the wrong times.
i cannot turn the images in my mind that sit like reflections in a puddle into 18000 word-long research papers,
and the biblical testimony speech i've typed, erased, retyped doesn't want to fall into place.
i hate all lower case letters,
how they look like mistakes and laziness.
but there aren't enough capital Is and perfectly place semicolons in the world to save me.
there's no amount of trying to be perfect that will bring me joy and happiness.
i carry weights that i cannot bear.
i harbor a frightened little girl in my heart,
one that stares out,
wistfully catches sight of beauty,
but can't seem to grasp a hold of it.
she's afraid of dark corners
and of being alone.
she makes herself seem feisty
because she cannot be brave
and she knows that very few can actually tell the difference.
i carry weights that i cannot bear.
i hold impossibly high standards for myself.
i believe that if i cannot be perfect then i may as well not try.
mistakes can only be made out of sight of others,
and all practice must be done in private so no one sees,
no one knows,
no one realizes that i have to try.
but it doesn't really matter,
does it?
because i'll still never be good enough anyway,
and all i have to do is look in a mirror to remind myself of the many reasons why.
i carry weights that i cannot bear.
i live in a hall of mirrors.
i can feel a hundred-thousand eyes watching,
scrutinizing,
judging me.
i live in fear of these scathing, ceaseless stares,
how they seem to know my body and my soul,
and all of the flaws they must see.
i carry weights that i cannot bear.
and i will never get rid of them myself.
but i don't have to.
these words that i hold,
like a fistful of rain,
have been gifted to me,
can be poured out in a million different ways.
i will write in lowercase letters to remind myself that i cannot be perfect 
because only god is.
that little girl has a father who has adopted her;
every time she runs away,
he always goes after her and brings her home.
each of my impossible standards
do not have to be reached.
and every time that i fail
i learn to fall off the ladder with a little more grace
and find the arms of mercy that always wait underneath.
that sea of watching eyes belong only to me,
eyes that are reflected in a three-sixty-degree hall of looking glasses,
fun-house concoctions that display me in every way but what i am.
i have spent the past several weeks experiencing new and greater depths of the love of god.
i have been wrapped in protection and a love that grieves for all of the hurt
each one of the burdens,
and all of the expectations i needlessly place on myself.
i am not saved because of my obedience and goodness,
i am saved because of the obedience and goodness of jesus.
*
i am writing these words for a cause.
this week is NEDA (national eating disorder awareness week),
and i plan on living and posting daily with the purpose of displaying transparency
promoting hope,
and pointing to a light far greater than one this world can fabricate.
because what can i gain if i try to hold on to my facades? 
rather, what will i lose if i choose not to?
"i would have lost a gesture and a pose"
(english 102 teaches me that i should cite t.s. eiliot and a page number here).
this year's NEDA week for me is less about posting statistics and the pushing the reality of a disorder:
there aren't enough numbers to represent what this struggle is,
and i live this disorder daily;
whether or not you choose to believe it is up to you. 
this year, i choose to make mistakes,
struggle,
and claim hope. 
-join me.-
*
*


6 comments:

Thaddeus Staton said...

This is the most beautiful blog post I have ever read. That is all.

Brianne Danae Romero said...

My insides are crying.
I love you so much, and am so proud of you- and this post-- for Christ's sake. <3

Becca said...

This is beautiful, friend. Never stop fighting and always remember that Someone Else has already claimed the victory!

Sarah Michelle said...

I am speechless. This is amazing.

Sarah said...

I knew you could write Grace, but not like that! This is beautiful. Poetic and simple. I know I do not have your disorder, so I cannot relate to that, but this can be applied to any and every other part of life, and so I can apply it, understand, realize, empathize, and let it contaminate my soul, as it has. Keep it up! I always enjoy reading.

emii said...

this is how i feel, so many expectations, so much failure. i thankyou so much for writing such a piece of writing, it spoke truth and comfort to me. thankyou.