i had my one word for the year all picked out.
it was supposed to be trust.
something i could stand to work on, to be sure.
but it didn’t feel right. i couldn’t quite settle into it, you know what I mean? it felt a bit safe.
but safety be darned, i was going to roll with it.
and then my cozy goal got chucked out the window.
God dropped a word on me. the kind of word that makes you cry out (arms flailing for dramatic effect):
that’s when you know it’s the word for you.
the kind of word that hits you square in your deepest, most vulnerable place. that makes you ask the person next to you why the room suddenly got so unbearably hot.
if you try to shrug it off, chalk it up to a fleeting moment of insanity, put it off til next year (or maybe the next) guess what? that’s the one.
so i’ve got my word.
and here it is:
i wish I could say this was about owning a house. or a car. or a large-but completely unpretentious-island off the south pacific.
but it’s so not.
it’s about owning me.
it’s about owning me as a mother. me as a woman taking the bulk of the hours in her day to crawl on the floor and change unsightly diapers and and yell ‘ash-eeeeerrrrrrr’ when he bolts for the top of the stairs for the ten billionth time. it’s about not diminishing that ginormous piece of my life, but honoring it. it’s needing to stop my tired spiel: “well i’m at home now, but here’s all the other [impressive] stuff I’ve got going on. i’m not just this one thing, you know.” you know what I’ve realized? my friends, family, and the random strangers-who-don’t-ask-but-i-tell-them-anyway don’t need the convincing. i do.
it’s about owning me as a writer. i know i need to take pride in my words, instead of shrugging them off as something i putter around with. i need to step out of the looming shadow of that insecure eighteen-year-old i once was. the one who let an english prof make her think she wasn’t good enough. sure i’m no jane austen. but what i’m doing serves some tiny corner of divine purpose, even if i don’t see the big picture quite yet.
it’s about owning me as a woman. a woman who is strong. not one who holds back and cowers on the sidelines, fearful of being judged. who can’t speak up in groups because she’s too intimidated. who longs to have a voice, but believes that when her turn comes around, she will have nothing to say that’s meaningful enough.
i need to own me. and not apologize for it. and not water it down to fit in. or so as not to offend. because i’m exhausted from making excuses and fading into the background and letting the boys have all the say. i’m sick of being insecure in what God has taken great care and love in gifting within me.
so that’s my big fat scary word. please tell me yours is as scary as mine.
i’m going to need some company.