Relaxing Into the Pain

Can you imagine holding up a mirror to your inner self? What would you see? That morning in church, several images came to my mind as the pastor spoke. I saw the me who was kind, loving, friendly, and generous. I saw the me who was angry, irritable, and emotionally explosive. I saw the outgoing and spontaneous me. I saw the insecure and scared me. I saw prior and current sin. I saw growth. I saw forgiveness, and I saw unforgiveness. I saw the image I projected to the world, and I also saw the raw and pensive part of me, the part that craved hiding in the dark. God had always seen me in this complex way. I had always seen myself in a compartmentalized way up to this point. My mind flashed back to January 21, 2013, only twenty days prior to this date. Self-discovery had begun.

I could embrace the parts of me that aligned with my image of godliness, perfection, and wholeness. But the splintered and jagged parts of me were difficult to hold. I envisioned a beautiful palate of bright colors representative of who I thought I was— splashes of red, orange, pink, blue, and purple. Yet that same palate also contained dark and splotchy patches, some of which overpowered the vibrant colors.

This is who I was! This is who I had always been! I stood before myself in church that day, and for the first time, I saw my nakedness. Though I felt stained and ashamed of the mirror’s reflection, something in me knew God loved me, in spite of me. Something in me knew He loved me so much that He did not want me to stay the same. So I picked up the phone and asked for help. I remember that moment as if I were dialing the number right now. I sat in my car, cloaked in its seemingly impenetrable shell. I had already located a counseling center near my home, one that offered faith-based psychological services. I keyed in the ten digits and stared at my phone, as if it would magically dial the number on my behalf. I stood in that doorway for quite some time, as tears streamed down my face. I hated to ask for help. I felt humiliated and ashamed. I wanted to hide. I knew what hiding felt like, and I feared what awaited me behind the therapist’s doors. But God gave me the strength to press the send button. It was a Sunday, so I knew that I would not actually speak with anyone, which gave me relief. I left a message and anxiously awaited a return telephone call from my assigned therapist. I was ready to see into myself—intimacy.