Hmmm. I guess that color just isn't in this box of pencils. So I skipped it.
The next day, I dumped out the pencils again and waaalaaa. There was the light blue color I was missing the day before. It had been stuck in the box and didn't even have the opportunity to be used the previous day. Since I'm in the habit of letting God speak to me through everything, this felt extremely significant.
When I was in third grade, I made a pact with myself that I would not tell a certain adult in my life what I was truly thinking or feeling ever again. In my nine year old mind, it was the best way to protect the vulnerable parts of my emotions, soul, creativity, thought processes that felt unwanted, under valued, and even refuted. I made good on that pact.
The problem with pacts like that is that I couldn't shut off such a large part of myself at age nine and keep it open in other avenues. No one was asking for my real words, emotions, thoughts. I became really good at helping people think that I agreed with everything they were saying . . . because, after all, that's what they really wanted anyway. They wanted me to think like they did. They wanted me to conform. Thinking different was a threat. Thinking different felt like a challenge. Thinking different looked like rebellion. So I hid. I silenced my voice.
Here I am, almost 30 years later trying to find my voice. The color came out of the box the next day. I drew another picture, this time adding the light blue. In fact, I colored whole pages with light blue. It's liberating and scary. What if you find out I'm not who you think I am? What if you don't like the real me? What if you don't know what to do with me if I think differently than you do?
It's finally the risk I'm willing to take to find my voice and speak what's really true in me. I've been hiding far too long.
The problem with pacts like that is that I couldn't shut off such a large part of myself at age nine and keep it open in other avenues. No one was asking for my real words, emotions, thoughts. I became really good at helping people think that I agreed with everything they were saying . . . because, after all, that's what they really wanted anyway. They wanted me to think like they did. They wanted me to conform. Thinking different was a threat. Thinking different felt like a challenge. Thinking different looked like rebellion. So I hid. I silenced my voice.
Here I am, almost 30 years later trying to find my voice. The color came out of the box the next day. I drew another picture, this time adding the light blue. In fact, I colored whole pages with light blue. It's liberating and scary. What if you find out I'm not who you think I am? What if you don't like the real me? What if you don't know what to do with me if I think differently than you do?
It's finally the risk I'm willing to take to find my voice and speak what's really true in me. I've been hiding far too long.
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Thanks for sharing your respectful thoughts.