I left my class tonight early to wander through Barnes and Noble.
I didn’t know why I was going there…other than the fact that something in my soul was hungry. I got rid of my smart phone (again) and I’ve come face to face with my restlessness that used to manifest itself in obsessively checking my phone. You know, like the stats on my blog, how book sales are going, what you are saying on Facebook, etc.
I wandered to the psychology aisle, of course. Appropriate.
Nestled in between the bi-polar books was a book by Brene Brown. It was as if it was the meat in between two slices of bread. I read the back and craved it.
It’s her book on being imperfect. Embracing imperfection, I have decided to not go into the living room and find the exact title.
She talks about hustling to fit in.
As I hungrily combed through the pages, I realized that I’m what she calls a hustler. The light dawned on me that what I’ve done for years is hustle. Hustle for approval and perfectionism, like a salesman trying to close a deal. In parenting, wife-ing, writing, friendships, and doing crazy things like being PTA president. I’m so not a PTA president. It also occurred to me that hustling has played a huge part in my mental illness. I had to go outside on my front porch and stare at the hood and tell God that I was sorry for not loving myself in the way that He loves me. I think He liked it because I felt chills come over my entire body. I probably should have been confessing this all along, instead of obsessively confessing that I don’t love Him.
There should be a confession that we read in church that goes something like this.
Forgive us, Lord, that we don’t see the Glory in ourselves that you see. Forgive us, that out of our shame and not seeing our own dignity that we don’t see dignity in those around us.
Forgive us, Lord, that we check Twitter and Facebook too much because we aren’t satisfied with our true selves.