Sticks & Stones

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me.” This is probably a far too familiar saying but I want to challenge it. I believe that words may not always have an immediate impact but I do believe they stick with us. It doesn’t matter if you have the thickest skin- words still stay in your memory even if the face of who said it disappears. I point out how disgusted I am in my physical flaws but it was only because someone had pointed it out towards me years earlier. Our views of ourself become so skewed and it looks more like a collage of everything that we’ve ever heard about ourselves. It just seems so much easier to remember the comments that were not compliments.

Have you ever wondered where a thought originated? I’m talking about the thoughts that you have that tell you you’re not good enough, smart enough, pretty enough. Where did that idea actually come into notion? Did you one day wake up thinking I’m unwanted, or was this something that was planted in you and then slowly started to grow in your mind.

For me the idea of being unworthy (whether it was love, friendships, job opportunities, etc.)  was something that seemed to be consistent in my life. But How?  Where did it originate? I grabbed my journal and soon the pages were getting filled with names, dates and scenarios. At first I felt like I was watching a bad film of my life that was flashing through my rejections after rejections. I went all the way back to the boy who messed with my head in third grade. Then came fifth grade and the awkward middle school years. All the boys I had talked to in high school, my relationships and even the “flirtation-ships”.

To some I was seen as a joke, others an object, and to a select few I was a convenience for when they had free time. I became the rebound, the summer fling, and one of many girls that they were casually dating. I felt like I was always proving my worth, because if it wasn’t me then there would be another girl willing to take my spot.

It started to not matter who ended things, each time I felt like the seed that was planted in my head at the age of 8 seemed to be growing in size. Each remark that I took in built on the idea that I was not good enough. What did that even mean? I felt undeserving of the guys who did treat me well. I feared for even when they would also see the thoughts one day that were manifesting in my head for far too long. Would they believe it too?  This kept me guarded and building up walls for protection. Could my own actions have sparked a downward cycle for someone else?

I don’t think the 3rd-grade boy thought what he said would later spark this idea of what I believed about myself fourteen years later. It’s scary how something that seemed like an insignificant opinion brews inside and can be reaffirmed in your thoughts even if it wasn’t true over and over again. It led me to not know who I was for myself and allowed others to place my identity on me. Understanding that these lies I believed were nothing more than what I just said LIES gave me freedom to actually live in my true identity. The identity that was spoken over me before I was even born, BELOVED.

-I’m Not A Writer, I’m Just Trying to Save Money on Buying A Diary-

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