They say that sewing mends the soul. I'd have to agree. Sometimes, when I'm sewing, while my hands are busy with a task, my heart can start to mend and I can truly hear God's whispers. And on days like today, my stitching is healing. I'm a sensitive person. I always have been. I use to view it as a weakness, but as I've grown, I've learned that it takes an incredibly strong person to be sensitive. Sure, as a child I cried over spilled milk (figuratively speaking), but as I've grown and matured, I've seen how a sensitive heart can sense another's pain, how it takes a sensitive heart to truly empathize, to even care enough to try to show compassion. Being sensitive ain't for sissies. It means that your heart is going to break for what a stranger is going through. It means you're going to feel helpless a lot because there is nothing you can do to fix all of the brokenness in this world. And while its not your job to to fix all of that brokenness, or clean up all of the messiness, it just may spur you into action. It did me. Its why I'm a paramedic today. I got tired of people I cared about, and yes, even strangers at Walmart, getting hurt and being powerless to help because I didn't know what to do. It turns out, there is a part of the brokenness that I'm suppose to at least alleviate, if not fix. Contrary to what our culture teaches, sensitivity is not synonymous with weakness. A weak person is too wrapped up in their own problems, insecurities, and having fun to care about how someone else feels and what they can do to help that person feel seen, to feel loved, and to feel their burden lighten. Yes, I do get wrapped up in my own problems far too often, but I can put them on pause when I see that someone else is hurting. I'm not a superhero. I mess up often and miss obvious signs of another's struggles. But when I realize that they're going through their own storm, whether they realize it or not, I hurt for them. I want to be there for them. Even if I am an extroverted-introvert* that needs occasional time with people, especially certain people, but is happiest at home with a book, her stitching, and her furry friends. I often feel too awkward to know what to say, or trip over my words when I try to let someone know that I care and want to help, even if all I can do is be a sounding board, a shoulder to cry on, or the person that sits next to them in silence just so they know that they're not alone. I fail miserably at this often. I feel that failure very keenly, regardless of whether I show it or not. And yes, I am definitely a recovering perfectionist. I have stayed in denial about that for years. I can look another in the eyes and honestly tell them that we all make mistakes, that mistakes do not make us failures, and mean the words wholeheartedly yet not offer myself the same understanding.
I'm also the type of person that can deal with one storm after another without missing a beat. A few trusted people might know about it. Sometimes a few not so trusted people know, because I'm learning that my own well being needs me to say some things out loud for me to accept them, or to let them go, and to start healing. The thing is, I can listen to mother's scream when she is told that her son is dead, or watch my own loved one suffer, or struggle with insecurities or battle with my own mental ghosts, and not show it or talk about it for a long time, if ever. When something happens, it may be moments later that I start to go through the messy process of cleaning out my emotional closet. Most of the time, I cram one thing after another in there for months on end until the door no longer shuts and the contents spill out everywhere and mess up the illusion that I have it all together, that I'm a good person, that I am enough, and that I can handle "it." I can't control when I become ready to deal with the mental and emotional ramifications that gets thrown at me from just living my life and trying to walk the path that God created me for. Sometimes I'm not ready. I just can't fit anything else into the closet.
When I read, I get a temporary break from the mess and the sorting. And I do read for fun when all is well too. But reading is like a little soul and mind vacation, a place where I can get lost for awhile. But when I stitch, my hands are busy, my heart starts to mend, my mind clears, and my soul finds peace. I guess I listen best to God when my hands are busy and I'm in a peaceful, quiet place, at least on the inside, because the world around me might be loud and crowded at that moment. But still, that closet door bulges. Sometimes I can sort before the door busts open. Other times, like today, all can be well and then suddenly the door unlatches and a barrage of past emotions that I didn't have time to deal with in that moment all slam into me at once. I had to shove the emotions back because I was too busy paddling or just trying to survive the storm to be able to deal with them then. It causes me to cry a lot on those rare days. I tend to feel alone on those days. Granted, this is something that is easiest and usually best for me to deal with on my own. It just helps to remember that I'm not alone, that I am seen, and that I am loved. I come from a very loving family, but the enemy's lies can help me forget. And when my head goes under water, my heart splinters anew, and my mind is overwhelmed by conflicting emotions and situations that I can't fix, I can easily forget that God is still there next to me and that nothing can ever separate me from His love. And for a girl that can feel all alone in a crowd, feeling all alone in this life comes easy.
I'm not saying all of this to burden you or ask for pity. I honestly don't want pity, and I truly do want to be the person that others turn to in their time of need. But sometimes the person helping others heal needs healing their self. I really just want for someone to understand this roller coaster of who I am, of what its like to be me, and quite possibly bond with the person nodding her head saying "Me too." right now. And I really feel like there is someone else out there right now that is the same way that needs to know that they're not alone, that they don't have to do it all on their own, and that it is OK to have the weepy, messy, sorting days. We don't have to be perfect. I don't know if I'll post this or not. I might just copy it into my journal and delete it from my drafts. I just know that here in this blogging world, I feel safe. I feel like I can be bluntly honest with you, and that you are a confidant I can trust. Some of you I have met, others I've communicated with, others neither of the above. And there are a few people that don't read this blog that I feel the same way about. I feel that you won't judge me and that even if you do judge me, we just might be more alike than we realize. That maybe you're struggling too and just need to know that your worth isn't lessened just because you struggle and mess up. You don't have to be perfect to be loved. And we all have the days where we are worn out and ugly cry. Just remember- there is healing in the tears. Needle and thread are needed for mending, and getting poked with a needle is painful. And if you're like me, odds are, you've used duct tape (I am my Daddy's girl, after all), and in my life, the occasional medical tape or coban, to help hold the pieces of my broken heart together. A breaking or broken heart does not mean that you are weak or a burden. A heart scarred from this life shows that you care, that you hurt when others hurt, that you love deeply, and take loss hard because you care too much at times. Those scars show that you truly know how to live life to the fullest. The scars show that the Healer has mended you there, but there is no shame in a new crack. To truly live this life, we are going to get scars, inside and out. The scars show the beauty of your story. How you chose to live even though it hurt. How even if you wished that God would take you today because today was hard and tomorrow might be worse, you were strong enough to keep going. Maybe you've dealt with depression, you've felt that you would never measure up, and that no one could love you if they saw the real you, the messy, broken, imperfect you that you hide behind a mask. You know what? I'm just like you. I can hide behind the mask well. I've been in those places before. Today, no one has noticed the red rimmed eyes, or the faint tear tracks. Honestly, I would prefer they didn't. And yet, it would be nice to be seen. It would be nice for someone to ask if I'm OK. I know I will be; and honestly, there is only one person in the same building as me right now that I might would open up to. But just knowing that someone else cares enough to ask, and is willing to accept that they might not be the right person for me to open up to in that moment, is worth a lot. Just knowing that someone around me actually
sees me, the real me. We all need for someone to ask how we're
really doing on occasion. And we all can do a better job of being there for each other and everyone else that we come into contact with in this life. So, you and I, we're the same. And our broken, scarred, messy hearts are to our credit. They are proof that we are stronger than we look, tougher than we seem, and able to feel and love enough for ourselves and everyone else around us. Its a special thing to be able to care about a loved one, or a friend. Its an almost unthinkable thing to care enough about a stranger that a piece of their story can result in our own heart breaking on their behalf. And while we are strong enough to survive this life and this burden-blessing of caring so much for others, don't feel like you are weak when you have a rough day, or when you need time to yourself, or when there is something or someone that your heart doesn't break over. If you don't occasionally give yourself time to heal, you won't be able to use that amazing heart of yours to show others God's love. And it is OK to ask for help. There is no weakness in that. In fact, it takes far more strength to ask for help than it does to pretend like everything is all under control, business as usual. Even the healer needs healing on occasion. Just remember, you have a beautiful heart and that is worth more than words can express. And even though I'm not face to face with you right now, I want you to know that I do care, that you're not forgotten or unnoticed, and that you are enough just as you are. You are loved and you are worthy of love. And I really want to ask you this: are you really OK right now?
Love,
Emmy
*(I told you that I'm weird. That is an actual characteristic of my personality type.)
