The following is something I wrote just before my 19th birthday. I posted the later half on my former blog, but for some reason I skipped the first half. Perhaps it was too personal at the time, but I feel like sharing it now.
April 6, 2008
I woke up as a girl.
For a long time I resisted my allotment in life. I knew I was a girl, but I did not happily accept the fact. That might sound strange, and it does seem rather silly now that I think about it.
I honestly don’t care how I happened to become anti-girl. At present, I’m not interested in searching deep within myself and my past to discover how the crippling mindset happened. All I know is that I’m free of it and I will now accept my femininity with wide open arms and a really big smile, that smile I smile that’s entirely too big to fit on my face. Yeah, that one.
There are stereotypes about the female gender that long made me ashamed to be a girl.
1. Females are overly-emotional.
2. Females talk too much.
3. Females are flighty and prissy air-heads.
These stereotypes disgusted me and I vowed I would never fit those categories. I assumed that these things were bad because males have always cracked jokes about these feminine attributes. I didn’t want to be the object of a man’s joke.
But the more I pursued God, I began to realize that denying my femininity was denying God’s purpose for me. If God wanted me to be a man, then He would have created me a man. But He didn’t. He created me a female and I’m required to live as a female, to work out my place in the body of Christ. I can’t do that when I’m suppressing myself.
Strangely enough, I have long denied my emotions. No need for details right now as to why, but early on I began to hide my emotions, to wear masks in public. To protect myself from pain, I wouldn’t let people know what I was feeling, yet my heart always screamed to be heard.
When God began to reveal to me the things that had long ruined my life, I learned how to abandon the wrong thinking I had and live in the freedom God gives each of us. It was really a matter of identity. When I realized my rights as a child of God, I let go of the fear of failure and rejection. His love is perfect, and perfect love casts out fear.
The suppressing of my emotions was extremely suffocating for years. I am now learning that it’s quite alright for me to feel the majority of what I feel. It’s how God programmed me AS A FEMALE. and not only as a female, but it’s how he programmed Grace Lucille Daniel. I feel things. I think things. And I solve mysteries. I ask questions of my feelings, I think them through, and I arrive at answers which I can share with others. If I didn’t feel things as deeply as I do, I would not feel such a need to know why. And if I never found out why, then I could never help anyone else who struggles with the same thing, nor could I truly appreciate the good feelings if I did not comprehend them.
Now I will say something that has been received with shock on my part. It is a dramatic change for me.
I have become a cry-baby.
Most of us think of that term as negative, but I am here to tell you it is rather the opposite. For me, it is quite liberating. it is proof that I am able to freely relate with an emotion, which will help me relate with human beings. I have been in a public place and witnessed normal scenes, yet the simplicity and beauty of many of them have made my eyes water and my throat choke on a sob. I literally have to take a deep breath or I will spill out a great gust of emotion. I’d prefer not to randomly cry in public because people would find it strange. But just the fact that I have the urge to cry is a wonderful feeling.
I
now have the urge to cry in almost every book I read and in every movie I watch. I first noticed this when watching “It’s a Wonderful Life” last Christmas. It was on tv and I screamed to change the channel because I was so sick of it that movie. But as it lingered on the screen, I got into it. REALLY into it. I’d seen the movie countless times, but this one time it became real. And then I realized I was crying.
I’m crying all the time now. Reading through Anne of Green Gables, I began crying when she went away to Queens and was missing Avonlea. I felt the loss so keenly, I missed Anne’s east gable room as much as she did! Then I began to tell another part of the story to my mother and I began to choke on my words because it was making me cry! It’s starting to seem a bit insane to me! But I won’t make myself stop. I rather enjoy this. I enjoy connecting with something like this. I enjoy laughing out loud when something funny happens in a book, when two lovers finally tell each other how they feel. I laugh out with glee!
Last week was a great week for me. I finally stopped long enough to catch my breath and so many of my girlish tendencies came back to me. I became the girl I used to be before I listened to the demons who hunted me down. I dream, I enjoy small moments, and I speak of everything. I’ve decided I want to be one of those people who always has an interesting story to tell. I don’t think I’ve lived enough to have many, but I do have a few. Every day I’m looking for a story, for an incident that I can share. There’s always something happening, there’s always something going on- and I don’t want to miss it! I want to soak up everything, to suck out the life of every moment and enjoy it as it is meant to be enjoyed.
This is how I was as a nine-year old girl. I was old enough to understand certain things, but I was young enough to retain childish innocence. I still played make-believe, dressed up, and spoke my mind without fear of rejection. That was the year I discovered my love of music and of writing. I was full of life and I loved learning. My Samantha doll became my best friend and I took her everywhere with me. Even though she was an amputee (her arm snapped off…), I loved her all the more and took tender care of her.
I would gather all my stuffed animals and throw a tea party in the living room. I crocheted random disasters that could serve as something useful if I thought creatively enough. I considered nothing trash, but found a purpose for everything, even it could be nothing but a strange looking piece of decoration. I thought up wonderful love stories (in which I was always the sought after girl) and imagined my grandmother’s old nightgowns into beautiful ball room dresses. I was good friends with all the trees in my backyard, and cried the day my growing sunflower I planted snapped over and died. I rode my bike up and down the sidewalk every day and played Indians with my neighbor. We would dig holes in the yard for no good reason, pulled up wild onions, and found berries to serve as paint. There was nothing I could not imagine, and life was rich because of it. I would sit on a hill in the backyard with the wind blowing through my hair, and pretend I was a model. Or I’d pretend I was a lonesome girl held captive by a horrible enemy, looking off in the distance for a handsome stranger to come rescue me. I would shove my face into the tire swing and sing into it, loving the sound of my own voice. I danced around the house and the yard and thought nothing of it.
I was such
a happy girl at nine years old. It all faded into an ugly grey as the years went by. I lost the passion I possessed. Remnants of it still resided in my heart, yearning to be born again.
Last week those seeds sprouted. I have Lucy Maud Montgomery to thank for it. Montgomery wrote the Anne of Green Gables series, which I loved as a child. Though I did not read much of it at nine years old, I was quite familiar with the movies and had a mad love for Gilbert Blythe. I started reading the series again last week and I found a “kindred spirit” in Anne Shirley. I was much like Anne as a child, just not nearly as chatty and clumsy. But while becoming acquainted once again with the girl, I released my inner nine-year old again. I discovered so much about myself I had forgotten, so much that had been buried under years of suppression.
I love it.
I have always wanted to be nine years old again.
I will be a happy mother. I can’t wait. I’m going to have so much fun with my kids.