Hello! Today is another
Be My Guest Monday! Have you decided to be my guest yet? If not, you should!! (hint... just click on the link...) :)
Today's guest is Lauren from
Her Silent Musings. When I started my blog I had to decide how much of my deepest thoughts I would actually be comfortable sharing to the public, since the "public" includes my mom, friends, and potentially people from work. What I love about Lauren's post is its simplicity, its transparancy, and the stream-of-consciousness writing style that I adore so much. I dare you to love this post more than I do:
Her Silent Musings...
There is a difference in my writing when I journal versus when I'm writing my story. You can tell. My journal reads horribly; the writing difficult to wrap your mind around either because of the jagged style or ill-scripted handwriting. When reading my story, it sounds like I try too hard, try too hard to be perfect. Often times, when I journal I also try to sound poignant, and more so just come across as dramatic and foolish. Yet when I write for my blog, I find that my voice sounds more authentic and wholesome. I actually sound like a real person delving into her inner soul and sharing pieces of it with people. You would think this would be the same for journaling, even book writing. However, such is not the case. When I'm writing my story, my mind almost feels completely detached from the moment, as if my fingers know more about what's going on than I do. When I journal, I think too much about someone possibly reading my thoughts in the future and I want to sound deep and reflective. When truthfully, I'm just a woman (yes, I'll be turning 20 in less than one month, and will no longer be a teen, so I shall refer to myself as a woman now) who eats goldfish crackers while writing her innermost thoughts.
I bought my parents a Thank You card because sometimes I feel like I don't show them enough appreciation. I can be very grouchy if my mom calls and I'm not in the mood to talk. I hardly ever talk to my dad on the phone during the week, so the only time I'm ever pleasant is during the weekend when I'm at their house visiting. Maybe I'm just looking at myself in a darker light than most; maybe I'm too hard on myself. Regardless, I want them to know that they're appreciated, and I know a card doesn't really do or say a whole lot, but it's better than nothing at all, and it's not like I don't ever say “thank you” to them when they do something for me. Sometimes I don't say thanks, so it makes me come off looking like I think I deserve to be catered to, but that's not how I perceive myself. Maybe I used to when I was in high school and still living with them, but not anymore.
Sadly enough, I'm going to be draining my bank account thin by the next pay period. While I was at Buffalo Wild Wings the other night with some friends, I bought a three-pack of screen guards and a new cover for my cell phone from Amazon, not considering that “Hey, Lauren, you have a doctor's appointment coming up this week” and not even thinking that I would need a refill on my medication for which I would have to pay. So that's a thirty dollar doctor's visit – and my real doctor wasn't even there, it was the head honcho lady who made me feel somewhat like she was talking down to me, which never sits well in my stomach – and then however much my prescription is going to cost. Not to mention, I bought lunch at various fast food restaurants before I went and bought groceries today, still have to buy gas for next week, and pay my car insurance. Ugh...
And then last Saturday my mom and I went to Kohl's where she bought me three pairs of pants for work. I tried them on Sunday afternoon and only one pair fit. My mom asked me if I'd gained any weight since I'd been on “the pill” and I said no, at least it hadn't felt like it. I mean, yeah, my belly's gotten a little rounder because I'm not walking my arse off from one class to another everyday, and I don't dance or cheer or do gymnastics anymore, but I didn't feel any heavier. She said it's possible that I had gained weight, and it disturbs me that this possibility unsettled me.
All my life, people have been telling me I need to gain weight, and the honest truth is that I've always resented their comments. I never wanted to gain weight, even though I knew I was small and could use a little meat on my bones. I don't have an eating disorder, I don't starve myself, or make myself vomit. I'm not obsessed with counting calories and doing two hundred crunches before bed every night. Now, truth be told, I could probably eat a lot healthier than what I do. I eat way too much junk. But since last weekend, I've turned sideways in the mirror many times and longed for my lost abs packed down by lack of exercise and too many Zaxby's milkshakes (too many Zaxby's anything, really).
There's a lady I work with who constantly informs me of her envy over my body and weight, something that annoys me to no end. People have told me they would kill for my body. Kill? Seriously? When I was in middle school, a curvy, curly-haired classmate pointed to my belly at a pool party and said, “That's how I want to look!” I curled into myself a little, slightly embarrassed by the attention, already feeling awkward that I was the only girl wearing pink and blue plaid boxer shorts over my swimsuit because I'd just started my period and was afraid of tampons. I've been accused of having nearly every eating disorder in the book, both behind my back and to my face. People have really surprised me by what they've said, yet looking back on it, I don't feel at all shocked by their words. Thinking of the kind of people they were and the way they treated not only me, but others, too, helped me make sense of the things they said to me and about me, and why they said them. That probably sounds harsh, but it's true. People can be mean, jealous, rude. Eventually, I learned to ignore the remarks. People would say what they were going to say and you couldn't do much to stop them.
So, in conclusion, I've learned that writing just has to be done, gratitude needs to be shown, and acceptance needs to be made. We are not perfect, we are just human. To be human means to be imperfect, sinful, but most importantly redemptive. I will probably never write perfectly the first time, will never say “thank you” enough, and will never look exactly the way I want to, because if I did, I have discovered that I wouldn't need God or His help. Because I am all of these things, I need Him, and will always need Him.
