Sometimes I think life is hard. And if I didn't know any better, there are moments I'd think life to be too hard. Thank Heavens I know better. The attacks haven't stopped, in fact they've only gotten progressively worse. People assume that just because it's my body doing the weird things that I'm some sort of medical genie with all of the answers about it. Well, my mama taught me what assuming does. Just because it - what ever "it" is - is happening to me, doesn't mean I have any more clue than the masses of medical professionals that have scratched their heads in my direction. I'm just the lucky girl with the front row seat to the show.
I can tell I've learned so much and already progressed so far because I'm finding myself admitting things to myself that I wouldn't before. Like, sometimes I really am scared during the attacks, especially ones where I can hardly breathe. I know this sounds crazy and completely irrational, but it's taken me a loooong time to be able to admit to myself that sometimes my life is hard, and that's okay. I used to believe that admitting that life was hard was a sign of weakness on my part and I just needed to be stronger. I mean, people go through so much worse than I do, what right do I have to think my situation difficult? Not for the first, or last time, I was wrong.
How can I properly assess my growth if my measuring stick is warped?
Sure, if I compare having each limb gnawed off by beavers while simultaneously going through Chinese water torture to what I go through, than I have nothing to complain about. But, if I compare what I go through, not only during my attacks, but on a daily basis, with what I've been through in the past (being healthy) then I have every right to think what I do isn't easy. Being completely and utterly honest with myself about the hard stuff - fears, vulnerabilities, short comings - enables me to see myself in a more pure lighting. Without the skewed shadows I can see the picture much more clearly.
Clarity accentuates the positive as much as it exposes the negative.
As humans, we tend to blow the perceived negative in ourselves way out of proportion to the point that we become blind to our positive. We become fearful that the whole world sees the ugliness that we see in ourselves, so we try to mask it. What we fail to realize is that the masks we put up only draw attention to our "problem areas", which are usually a fraction of what we perceive them to be. So where we naturally had a beautiful painting, where the few minute flaws only expressed individuality and our own idiosyncrasies - nothing that distracted from the masterpieces that we are - we allow our fears and insecurities to distort our canvases to the point that what once was a lovely Monet has become a Salvador Dali. As any artist knows, it's all about the way in which we illuminate ourselves. Our natural light comes from truth. It isn't until we add a few pigments of inaccurate self-imagery or self-deception that the once favorable lighting becomes oh so horrifying.
So how do we revert our tainted light to pure light? How do we see ourselves the way that the Painter sees His masterpieces? Unfortunately, there's no magic light bulb we can just screw in to replace the old. It's a process that takes time and a lot of labor. Not dirty, sweaty labor, but a labor of love, forgiveness, patience, understanding, compassion, and most of all, mercy. With ourselves. How many of us can honestly say we treat ourselves with all of these attributes? Sure, we can be quick to see past others' short comings and mistakes - after all, they're just human - but are we as merciful with ourselves? We are a work of art! Who is to judge whether the style or brushstrokes in which we were painted are right or wrong? We are all made differently, but not one was made less masterfully. It's all in how we see it. Our self-confidence comes in knowing that He who created us would never make any work of art less than an extraordinary showpiece. It's up to us to figure out, in this great big Museum, which Exhibit we were meant to shine in.
