Since my return to Europe about a month ago, I’ve been having the worst case of jet lag. Maybe after a month it’s safe to even call it insomnia.
That being said, I probably haven’t been getting enough sleep, or getting mentally attacked, or my emotional roller coaster is all kinds of crazy and sensitive, or with mother nature expected to give me a lovely visit soon, I’ve been piling on all sorts of insecurities in my big head. Whatever the reason may be, it’s an unpleasant yet necessary battle.
After refusing to spend the next 6 hours in the darkness staring into space and hoping I’d eventually get tired of being bored and pass out, I settled with watching a movie.
I watched two.
“Blindside” and “Good Will Hunting”, both absolute tear-jerkers!
I’ve always been a cryer when it came to movies. I can cry through Tinker Bell out of sheer happiness! But when it comes to crying about failure, depression, stress, anxiety, a broken heart or whatever else it may be, I have pretty thick skin.
Maybe it’s a pride thing and I have a big ego, but I’ve never liked to show my weakness in those areas of my life. Or maybe I’m just a control freak. After several occasions of putting my trust in places they don’t belong, I learned not to trust anyone but myself with my happiness.
But a combination of those two movies, my emotional standing, and a little bit of homesickness, it turned out be just enough to spring up several insecurities I thought I buried years ago.
I started off crying because of the movies and somehow ended up sobbing into my pillow for the next hour or so.
It might’ve been thought’s I’ve been bottling up for years and a simple recipe of weakness that triggered its explosion.
No matter what I did I always felt second. For my whole life I’ve been able to push those thoughts aside or just ignore them altogether.
Be strong Oxie, people are watching.
Don’t be such a girl, that’s a stupid reason to cry, you know better.
Crying won’t make it better, sleep on it. You’ll get over it by tomorrow.
Anyone that knows me, should know that I’m normally a very confident person. I do everything and anything I want to do and I couldn’t care less what other people thought about it. I’ve been a victim of horrible rumors and gossip before and I was fine. As a matter of fact, there was even a small part of me that was a bit flattered to be so important that people insisted on talking about me. Be it good or bad things.
Sometimes those rumors would make their way back to me and I found it facetious-better yet, entertaining, the stories people came up with! (Seriously, some of you should be writers, I’d read your books).
No matter what people said about me, no matter the size of the sticks and stones, I held it in, I reminded myself of the real truth and put on a brave face and went on with my life pretending to be completely oblivious to the rumors and that was my formula for success.
To be honest, for an stupendous 20+ years, it worked out just fine… until last night.
Sleepless nights and sappy classics have the power to thin out your thick skin!
Everything I thought I didn’t care about, I did. I’ve never felt like more of a girl than I did then. Never felt more weak. Never felt more dependent on God than I did attempting to drown out the sound of my sobs into my pillow.
God, no matter what I do, I’m always second. I’m never good enough. There’s always someone or something to one-up me. There’s always something better. Something I don’t have. Something I didn’t do right.
Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of peace. Maybe because it was 8 in the morning and I was finally tiring out, or maybe because God sent the peace.
A simple message. A humbling message.
It’s okay to cry. No one is good enough. Everyone is second. Everyone is their own worst enemy. Their own worst critic. Battling their own demons, overcoming their own storm.
And you know what, it’s okay to be weak. I am weak. I don’t want to be strong. I never want to think that I can handle anything on my own. I hope to always seek my comfort and my strength in God. To be dependent on Him for everything. It seems that a sure fire way of failing anything is by taking matters into my own hands.
And I like my insecurities and imperfections. They serve as a constant reminder to seek the only piece of perfection that ever existed. Jesus.
So it’s okay to be second. I like being second. So long as God is first, being second never sounded better.