On Saturday, I chipped my tooth... a top tooth next to my front teeth. I was awfully disapointed... I thought great looking teeth were about the only thing I had going for me. Then I began thinking about it, and about myself and that's when I decided to start writing a new blog.
I know, crazy weird connection and result... but that's how I work, all sorts of seeimingly non-related things connect in my mind. But my end thought was, I want to come to a point where I like how I look. Don't get me wrong, I'm not walking around ashamed of how I look, in fact, I'm probably more comfortable with how I look and who I am than a lot of people around me. I've never been one to put much importance in what people in general think of me. That's something I like about myself. But, that doesn't mean I'm happy with myself... and that is what I want to work on... and that is what I want my blogging to be about.
That isn't all my blog is going to be about, but I want it to be something I am consciously thinking about and working on in my mind. I'm sure I will scatter all sorts of weird little thoughts and shares througout my blog... afterall, that's who I am... one big jumble of mismatched thoughts! :)
* * *
As I got to thinking about who I used to be and who I am now, also what I like about myself and what I don't. That's when I remembered something from years ago.
When I was in Bible College, probably my second year, I took an introduction to counselling course (I forget the exact name of the class). On the first day, the teacher had us pull out a piece of paper and asked us to write 10 things about who we are. So, we did. Afterwards, we talked about what we wrote and the professor pointed out a few things.
The professor pointed out that at least half of the things we had chosen to write as being "about ourselves" weren't really who we are - that they were who we are to other people... mother, father, sister, brother, aunt, teacher, cousin, and so on... I remember thinking to myself, "wow, yes, that's not who I am, I'm separate."
It has been a lot of years now since that class... there abouts 15 actually. I'm probably about the same age as my professor was at the time that he taught the class... and it turns out, I've come to a different way of thinking on this.
I AM the things I am to other people. It's not just what they think of me. Sure, some labels that people give me are merely their perception and aren't the truth. For example, you might think I'm stupid... but I know this isn't the truth.
But, I am someone's daughter, someone's wife, and someone's mother. It isn't just who they see me as, but roles I play. Sure, not all roles are chosen ones, but they are no less part of who I am.
So, I wanted to talk about one of those things that I am...
I am a mother.
I didn't think about it beforehand, but once I was pregnant with my first, I started thinking about stretchmarks... would I get any? could I ward them off with creams and potions? what if I got a lot of them? would I be ruined if I got stretchmarks? would they make me ugly?
I've been lucky. I've had two kids and don't have that many stretchmarks. When the stretchmarks were new and pink, it felt like I noticed them all the time. But, as the color faded my thoughts about them changed.
Suddenly, I started hearing people talking about them as badges of honor. At first, that sounded like a weird idea. But the idea has warmed up in my heart. I don't so much think of them as badges of honor, but I think of them as reminders of something special. I've had the honor and pleasure to bare my own children, not everyone does that... not everyone can do that... it's a blessing.
My stretchmarks are something I am proud of now. I didn't used to be, but now I am.
I know, crazy weird connection and result... but that's how I work, all sorts of seeimingly non-related things connect in my mind. But my end thought was, I want to come to a point where I like how I look. Don't get me wrong, I'm not walking around ashamed of how I look, in fact, I'm probably more comfortable with how I look and who I am than a lot of people around me. I've never been one to put much importance in what people in general think of me. That's something I like about myself. But, that doesn't mean I'm happy with myself... and that is what I want to work on... and that is what I want my blogging to be about.
That isn't all my blog is going to be about, but I want it to be something I am consciously thinking about and working on in my mind. I'm sure I will scatter all sorts of weird little thoughts and shares througout my blog... afterall, that's who I am... one big jumble of mismatched thoughts! :)
* * *
As I got to thinking about who I used to be and who I am now, also what I like about myself and what I don't. That's when I remembered something from years ago.
When I was in Bible College, probably my second year, I took an introduction to counselling course (I forget the exact name of the class). On the first day, the teacher had us pull out a piece of paper and asked us to write 10 things about who we are. So, we did. Afterwards, we talked about what we wrote and the professor pointed out a few things.
The professor pointed out that at least half of the things we had chosen to write as being "about ourselves" weren't really who we are - that they were who we are to other people... mother, father, sister, brother, aunt, teacher, cousin, and so on... I remember thinking to myself, "wow, yes, that's not who I am, I'm separate."
It has been a lot of years now since that class... there abouts 15 actually. I'm probably about the same age as my professor was at the time that he taught the class... and it turns out, I've come to a different way of thinking on this.
I AM the things I am to other people. It's not just what they think of me. Sure, some labels that people give me are merely their perception and aren't the truth. For example, you might think I'm stupid... but I know this isn't the truth.
But, I am someone's daughter, someone's wife, and someone's mother. It isn't just who they see me as, but roles I play. Sure, not all roles are chosen ones, but they are no less part of who I am.
So, I wanted to talk about one of those things that I am...
I am a mother.
I didn't think about it beforehand, but once I was pregnant with my first, I started thinking about stretchmarks... would I get any? could I ward them off with creams and potions? what if I got a lot of them? would I be ruined if I got stretchmarks? would they make me ugly?
I've been lucky. I've had two kids and don't have that many stretchmarks. When the stretchmarks were new and pink, it felt like I noticed them all the time. But, as the color faded my thoughts about them changed.
Suddenly, I started hearing people talking about them as badges of honor. At first, that sounded like a weird idea. But the idea has warmed up in my heart. I don't so much think of them as badges of honor, but I think of them as reminders of something special. I've had the honor and pleasure to bare my own children, not everyone does that... not everyone can do that... it's a blessing.
My stretchmarks are something I am proud of now. I didn't used to be, but now I am.
I also have a c-section scar from having my second child. I am especially fond of my c-section scar. Before my son was born my daughter (who was 3) used to theorize on how the new baby would come out. She decided the new baby would come out a special door on my tummy. The funny thing was... he sort of did! So, my c-section scar isn't an imperfection... it is a closed door that marked a very special time.
My c-section scar is also special because I am blessed to live in a part of the world that has the technology to save babies (and mothers) in circumstances where one or both might have died otherwise. Just another reason to think of it as a gift and a good memory, not an imperfection.
My c-section scar is also special because I am blessed to live in a part of the world that has the technology to save babies (and mothers) in circumstances where one or both might have died otherwise. Just another reason to think of it as a gift and a good memory, not an imperfection.
