identity exercise: genuine

 

I have to think about this one.  I'm not sure if it's entirely true.  I think I mask a lot, probably most of the time.  Most of the time I would rather be alone.  I wake up to a feeling of dread every day.  If I didn't mask those things, I wouldn't be very fun to be around.

What does it mean to be genuine?  The dictionary says "truly what something is said to be, authentic; sincere." 

Ok, sincere: I can get behind that.  

And, although I do keep depression & mental health issues hidden, I think that in other ways, what you see is what you get.  When I'm with people I trust, I say what I think and I'm "me" in spite of keeping the depression and diagnosis under wraps.  

The lady who does my TMS has been talking about taking the mask down.  She says my face will get used to the feeling of smiling.  I'm like, what? the mask IS the smile.  My face knows what smiling feels like.  But also, not always.  In spite of feeling the dread and heaviness of depression, I am usually able to smile and laugh with friends and family.  It's a weird, in-between place I live in.

But I know that I do have empathy and care for my friends and family, and maybe that's what people sense.  I love my people and have a real interest in their lives.  When I feel safe, I am comfortable to give my thoughts and input into conversation, and talk about hard things, including my mental health. 

So yeah, I think I am genuine.  Being genuine is good.     

identity exercise: see God's wonders and illustrate them

At first I was at a bit of a loss for this one.  The word "illustrate" brings to mind drawing, painting, etc, which I don't really do in a way that illustrates God's wonders.  But there are other ways to illustrate God's wonders.

But before you illustrate them, you have to see them.  Something I love about myself is my affinity for colour.  I loooove colour.  I suppose most people do, me no more than any other.  Idk.  Somehow colour makes me so happy.  I just like that about me.

Another thing I love is that I notice the tiny things.  And I don't just notice, I'm enthralled.  I want to capture them and put them on display.  Some people are big picture people.  They see the sunsets and sunrises and ocean views and mountain vistas and they are overcome by the majesty of it all.  And I guess I am too.  I mean hey, look at the colour in a sunrise or a sunset, am I right?  I've seen mountains that leave me breathless, and the ocean is my happy place; I can never take enough photos of the water cresting at the beach. 

 

But I feel like not as many people notice the little things.  Not everyone looks down much, and they miss out on some pretty cool things.  I mean, take snails for instance.  They're slugs with shells on their backs... living away from water... and also sea creatures wear the same kind of shell.  It's amazing.  And the colours of these wee things are incredible as well.  Most people look at snails as pests and hate them, but they are beautiful.  Same thing with weeds; people hate them and kill them, but they are so pretty.

Anyway, so I'm realizing there are more ways than just drawing or painting to illustrate God's wonders.  The first part of this identity exercise is that I SEE them.  That is a gift from God.  I love that he made me that way.  I know that not everyone has an eye for that.

The second part is illustrating them.  I can do that through pictures like these.  I can do it through words in story or poetry.  I can do it through music.  

And that's another thing.  I think the way that God communicates so uniquely with different people astounding.  He created me with music in me, and then he chooses to sing to me time and again.  He doesn't have to.  He gave us the Bible and that should be enough.  But he's kind and gracious and knows we are dust, so he reaches out to us according to our nature or bent, if only we have eyes to see and ears to hear.  

Anyway....

I am most grateful to him for creating me this way, as someone who is drawn to beauty and has eyes to see his wonders.  I'm grateful he has given me the tools and the talent to illustrate the wonders I do notice.  He is a good God.

identity exercise: make people feel accepted and valued

 

I know this is true about me because I've been told things like this for a long time.

At heart, I'm a peace maker. I'm very sensitive. I think I'm fairly gentle-hearted and compassionate, and I think I'm fairly empathic. All these things lead me to look at other people with understanding and acceptance. The thing is, I look at people as having value because they DO. Everyone has value because they are created by God. I think maybe if you believe in the value of someone, they feel valuable. At times I am judge-y but I usually try to keep my thoughts to myself, and most often I end up talking myself through the judgment to compassion.

It might partly be because I have so often felt worthless and unwelcome. Feeling like you belong nowhere and like you're unacceptable is a terrible feeling. I don't feel like there's a good reason to treat people like that. There are people who make me uncomfortable but I usually assume that's a me problem and even if I keep my distance from them, I try to be understanding and not be ugly towards them.

I think it's a gift from God to be able to accept people and value them the way they are. I feel grateful to God for giving me that gift. 

identity exercise: good auntie

It's been a difficult couple of days and I haven't wanted to write at all, especially not anything good about myself.  I wish I could explain how it feels to be drowning under a black wave of despair.  I can tell myself the truth till I'm blue in the face but it doesn't seem able to hold the wave at bay.

Today I went to a friend's house to pick something up.  She's about half my age, but she and I have shared pretty openly with each other and she is wise beyond her years.  She spoke truth into the despair without discounting or trying to make it better.  I recognized the value of community today, as I left with a fresh perspective that I wouldn't have had if I had isolated (which is what I feel like doing whenever I'm feeling overwhelmed).  I need to remember this for next time.

Anyway, the thing I picked this week was "good auntie."  I'm not sure this is a character trait, but it rises out of character traits, for sure.  I have had the opportunity to build relationships with five of my nieces.  Unfortunately, with my other 8 nieces and nephews this hasn't been the case.  With them, I'm a "card-with-money" auntie, but with these five, I've been able to spend more time and that has allowed more familiarity.   

But come to think of it, this is about my identity, not necessarily about my character traits.  So if I think about it that way, "good auntie" could be part of my identity, and it's a good thing to be a good auntie.  I try to be fun, to be interested in their lives and the things they like, to spend time with them, to listen to them, and to show them affection.  As they get older, I try to strike a balance between being understanding of them and supporting their parents, because I want to be an advocate for both sides.  I love being an aunt.  I want to be someone who my nieces feel they can trust and who they can come to if they are struggling with their parents.  

identity exercise: great sense of humour and dry wit

 

For most of my life, I've been super shy and introverted.  I recharge by being alone.  I dislike crowds.  I am extremely uncomfortable with strangers.  As a child, being in or in front of a crowd could send me to tears.

But.  Gradually, I grew into something.  By junior high age, when I was in a group of people, whether strangers or friends, I came out as a clown.  Not an overt clown, no.  A sly, off-the-cuff, unexpected joker.  A quiet disrupter.

In high school French class, I'd wait till Mr. Pelletier's back was turned.  Then I'd quickly flip my eyelids inside out and look around the room.  Anyone who happened to glance in my direction would shout or groan or shriek in horror, and I'd flip my lids back in an instant.  Mr. Pelletier would turn and demand to know what was wrong, and I'd look, clueless, around the room with everyone else.  He'd turn back to the board and I'd flip them again, with more of the class at the ready this time....

Random things strike me funny, and my mouth takes off before my brain catches up to tell it to stay quiet.  Usually my comments are just slightly above a whisper, and spoken deadpan.  Somehow I manage to present a facade of composure - or maybe it's my resting bitch face - that makes the wit that comes from my mouth a surprise.  People around me snort, snicker, or shoot me a smirk.  And that just eggs me on!

I looked up the meaning of "dry wit."  "Deadpan, dry humour, or dry-wit humour is the deliberate display of emotional neutrality or no emotion, commonly as a form of comedic delivery to contrast with the ridiculousness or absurdity of the subject matter.  The delivery is meant to be blunt, ironic, laconic, or apparently unintentional.

Yep, that's me.

My penchant for producing a laugh might come from my efforts as a child, to make my mother laugh.  I remember the thrill of seeing her smile and feeling like she loved me, and then I'd say more things to keep her favour.

Sometimes I feel exasperated with myself.  "Just. Stop.  Shut. UP."  Because I feel like I'm way overdoing it, and people are just faking while thinking, "God, make her stop!"  Sometimes I feel like I just can't seem to rein it in, like my brain and my mouth are a runaway train and I'm the wreck that people can't look away from - horrified fascination. "Just. STOP."

But most often, I kind of like my sense of humour.  Most often, I think I'm hilarious.  Most often, I think it's cool that I can make people laugh.