No Faking

I had a flashback the other day as I was reminiscing about the Sunday afternoons I spent at my grandparents' house when I was little.

Every Sunday, without fail, my Mom and I would trek to my Grandma and Grandpa's house, and upon arrival, my plan was usually to rush out of the house as soon as possible so I could go outside and play with the neighborhood kids.

I always liked these Sundays, not just for my Grandmother's cooking and cuddles, but because when I got to go outside - free to roam and explore with those kids who barely knew me, I could be anyone I wanted to be.

And boy, oh boy, was I a creative storyteller.

Like many of us who had dysfunctional or abusive childhoods, we hid it well and became good at creating alternate realities of what our life was actually like.

As far as these neighborhood kids knew, I was quite the popular girl at my school, attending all the cool kid parties, playing sports, and having all kinds of fun and romance with the many boys who pined after me.

Oh, what a fake tale I could tell.

For a second, I sometimes believed the stories I made up, probably because I desperately wanted them to be real.

But the truth was, I was awkward and insecure, and with my skinny, uncoordinated body, I rarely, if ever, played sports and was usually the last one picked for any team.

Then there was my ultra-feminine bowl haircut and hand-me-down clothes that only attracted boys who teased me and called me "Mosquito Bites" due to my slowly developing figure.

What fun, what romance!

Not.

And let's not even go into what home life was like - even now - decades later - I'd prefer skipping over those parts.

So, on Sundays, I could fake it and be someone different.

Those Sundays allowed me to hone my storytelling skills, weaving tales of grandeur, glee, and a life I wished I had.

While sometimes fun, the faking was pretty exhausting and I always felt a twinge of sadness and guilt about not just being myself.

I suppose imaginative storytelling and faking it is pretty normal for most kids, even those with functional childhoods (whatever that means).

But as I sat reminiscing about those Sundays, I realized that my faking it and storytelling didn't end there.

As I grew up, I honed that ability to tell stories and fake it.

I had an amazing ability to morph and pretend to be someone else to fit in.

I honed superhuman denial skills to warp the reality of what was happening around me.

Nothing to see here, everything's fine.

I could erase bad memories and sock them away somewhere deep in the dark corners of my mind.

It's fine, it's fine, everything's fine.

I could tell myself people were different than who they were showing me they were.

They're fine, they're great. They are actually amazing. Everything is awesome.

I could avoid hard things and convince myself everything was fine when, in fact, not so much.

I also created a sort of defense mechanism of setting unrealistic expectations that everything around me needed to be a certain, wonderful way.

And when things didn't meet my expectations, I would either ignore what was transpiring, pretend something else was happening, or leave the situation.

And when all that didn't work, I would numb out with whatever it took to escape.

Yikes.

Isn't this like the most inspirational thing you've ever read?

Let's get to the good part already.

The unconditional love of God that was chasing me down all those years finally got caught up with me.

Slowly, I chiseled away at the many layers and masks I wore to get to know the real me and started loving myself for who I really was.

Not the closed-up, hidden, and fearful me.

Not the fake me.

The open, brave, and real me.

With God's help, I began to face the realities and pains of life and weathered many a storm with clarity and confidence and the support of wise counsel and true friends who were willing to be with the most authentic and vulnerable version of me.

Now let me say that not every moment of every day with every person am I this raw version of myself. I trust when God whispers in my ear that I may need to put on some protection to keep myself safe.

And don't get me wrong, I can still weave a good story, especially when faced with something challenging or uncertain. But I check in with myself to ensure I'm not adding storylines or erasing realities.

If this resonates with you, let me encourage you to be authentically brave, my friend.

God is chasing you and is ready to unmask and uncover the real and wonderful you.

I'm here to support you and see you as you are.

With God’s help, we can work through whatever you need to with no fake alterations or adaptions required.

As I think of how much has transpired since those Sundays of my youth, I can now reflect on them with a gentle understanding and feel proud knowing that little girl grew up to be a kind and brave woman.

That understanding allows me to release the parts of the story that overshadowed the good stuff and remember all the wonderful things about those days with my family.

Oh, what I wouldn't give for just one more cuddle and Sunday dinner.

Matthew 5:8

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.

Galatians 1:10

Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.

Philippians 4:13

I can do all this through him who gives me strength.