Tag Archives: rejection

July 29, 2015 · 1:00 AM

UnMasked

Photo Credit: justposhmasks.com

All through my life, I’ve dealt with feelings of low self-esteem and self-worth. I felt undone, incomplete, or insignificant. Along the way, I realized this stemmed from my childhood. I did not ask for it. I certainly did not want it. But with an undeniably painful past and a seemingly questionable future, I muddled through life. I thought a man could save me, but he only tried to create me in his own image! I became his shadow, even worshiped the ground he walked on, subservient to his every whim. I was truly lost, with no identity, no voice – no me. Yet I held on, not wanting to lose him. This, by the way, is a perfect example of insecurity: the more easily threatened we are, the more insecure we are.

Beth Moore says: “Insecurity lives in constant terror of loss.” As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been reading Beth Moore’s So Long, Insecurity with the subtitle You’ve Been a Bad Friend to Us. How I wish she wrote this book 40 years ago! She says, “Insecurity is not only a woman’s battle.” She identifies insecurity as a “profound sense of self-doubt – a deep feeling of uncertainty about our basic worth and our place in the world. The insecure man or woman lives in constant fear of rejection and deep uncertainty about whether his or her own feelings and desires are legitimate.”

I thought about myself as a Christian, why from time to time do I still struggle with insecurities? Why does rejection crush me so? Why do I second-guess everything? Beth reveals an interesting point about herself in her book: “I not only lack security, I also lack faith. I don’t just doubt myself, I also doubt God about myself.

Now I don’t know about you, but that struck a chord in me!

She goes on to say how some of us never seek healing from God for our insecurities because we feel like we don’t fit the profile. But insecurity’s best cover is perfectionism. Now there’s a mask for you!

A person who has no self-worth or a low self-esteem

tends to hide behind a mask.

Note: Here’s a thought-provoking poem I came across: Don’t Be Fooled By Me

What masks are you prone to wear? Looking back, I recall hiding the pain behind my smile…

Don’t try to be somebody you’re not, no one is perfect. It’s okay to let your guard down. We will face difficult and troubling times. Just remember God loves us just the way we are; He loves us too much to leave us that way.

6 Comments

Filed under Beth Moore, insecurities, Masks

Tagged as Beth Moore, Charles C. Finn, Christianity, insecurities, personal, practical, psychology, rejection, self-doubt, struggles

May 2, 2015 · 10:03 PM

Me, qualified?

I am so glad that God doesn’t call the qualified but He qualifies the called! I am one that may feel like puking my guts up before an event. But then once the execution is over, I may bawl like a baby! As much as I am thankful for the grit in me to undertake a task, I am much more grateful for the grace of God that carries me through a task. I don’t take this lightly.

Be yourself, nobody else is better qualified than you.

This weekend, I had a wonderful opportunity in sharing my heart at Howard Partridge’s Round Table. I was blessed, not only by the warm reception but especially by the men at the conference being so responsive. Many voiced to me how touched they were by my words, as they reflected on their own situations or someone dear to them.

Regardless of faith, status, education, or race, we’ve all felt discouraged, rejected, abandoned, or betrayed at one point or another. We’ve all had our dreams smashed, our dignity shot, our hearts torn, and our hope lost.

If my life of peril can become a life of promise, yours can too. I believe your yesterday does not have to define your today. Just remember: You may not be where you want to be today, but thank God you are not where you once were.

7 Comments

Filed under Inspiration

Tagged as Author, Howard Partridge Round Table, motivation, public speaking, qualified, rejection

Image

UnMask

All throughout my life, I’ve dealt with feelings of low self-esteem and self-worth. I felt undone, incomplete, or insignificant. Along the way, I realized this stemmed from my childhood. I did not ask for it. I certainly did not want it. But with an undeniably painful past and a seemingly questionable future, I muddled through life. I thought a man could save me, but he only tried to make me into his own image! I became his shadow, worshiped the ground he walked on, subservient to his every whim. I was truly lost, with no identity, no voice – no me. Yet I held on, not wanting to lose him then. By the way, that’s a perfect example of insecurity: the more easily threatened we are, the more insecure we are.

Beth Moore says: “Insecurity lives in constant terror of loss.” As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been reading Beth Moore’s So Long, Insecurity with the subtitle You’ve Been a Bad Friend to Us. Wish she wrote this book 40 years ago! She says that insecurity is not only a woman’s battle. She identifies insecurity as a “profound sense of self-doubt – a deep feeling of uncertainty about our basic worth and our place in the world. The insecure man or woman lives in constant fear of rejection and deep uncertainty about whether his or her own feelings and desires are legitimate.”

I thought about myself as a Christian, why from time to time do I still struggle with insecurities? Why does rejection crush me so? Why do I second-guess everything? Beth reveals an interesting point about herself in her book: “I not only lack security, but I also lack faith. I don’t just doubt myself, I also doubt God about myself.

Now I don’t know about you, but that struck a core in me!

What masks are you prone to wear? Looking back, I recall hiding the pain behind my smile.

A woman who has no self-worth or low self-esteem tends to hide behind a mask.

Note: Here’s a poem I came across: Don’t Be Fooled By Me

6 Comments

July 6, 2014 · 6:30 PM

Aside

Heaven, Hell or Hoboken – Part II

1965

Out in Jersey’s bitter cold, the moon full, the trees rustled. Mama and I spent half the night shivering, huddled together on a bus bench—my head on her lap.

“M-Mama,” my teeth chattered. “I’m cold.”

“I am too. Now stay still.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“I know, Mary. Close your eyes. That bum. Where is he?”

We would have frozen if a kind woman hadn’t invited us up to her place to sleep on her sofa overnight.

Whenever Mama cornered Jimmy in a bar, drinking his pay away, after bickering over dinero, she’d remain with him. If I happened to be around, they sent me away, or Mama left me at home by myself. It saddened me how she preferred being with him than with me. Often they’d stagger home and pass out in a stupor. Only then did the arguments cease and the fights end.

More often than not, I’d gone to bed with the sound of my stomach rumbling. Mama and Jimmy routinely barged in from a night of carousing.

“Mama, I’m hungry,” I mumbled, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“Why are you awake?”

“Can you fix me something to eat?”

“Oh, for goodness sake. It’s late.” She turned on the hotplate to fry a hotdog. A few minutes later, she’d have one for me rolled inside a slice of bread. “Here. Sit up.”

“Fix me one, too,” Jimmy demanded.

“Hold your horses,” Mama snapped.

As soon as I finished, I laid back down, my eyelids heavy. Eventually, the bright lights in the room faded. My parents’ fussing drifted away as sleep overtook me, but not before hearing familiar sounds. A can popping open. Cursing. A slap. Sobs.

Unsure as to why, one evening Jimmy overturned the bed that Mama and I slept in. We tumbled onto the hard floor. As Mama struggled to rise, Jimmy pulled her by the arm and shoved her into a windowpane. Jimmy became aware of my presence and after he flipped the bed upright, he ordered me back into it. I faced the wall sniffling until I fell asleep.

The next morning, I awoke to the sight of a blood-spattered Mama hobbling on crutches. I ran to help her.

“Mama, what happened?”

“It’s nothing, Mary. Stop crying! I tripped, that’s all.”

I couldn’t help to wonder, Why did she think I didn’t know anything?

I knew some things. I hid loose change and planned to save enough money to take care of Mama one day. In my childish mind, I knew that one day we were going to live in a big house, have plenty to eat, and Mama wouldn’t ever have to worry again.

That afternoon I heard cursing and knew it wasn’t good. A rattling sound carried around the wall like something whirling in a container. Then to see Jimmy shaking my pink, plastic kitty-bank upside down in mid-air, my pennies, dimes, and nickels clattering onto the floor, made me weak and sick inside.

I followed the coins that rolled under a chair and dove for them. I looked up, my eyes darting between Mama and Jimmy hoping she’d do something. Mama called him a “jackass,” but that didn’t stop him. He couldn’t care less that I knelt there sobbing. He expressed zero shame as he scooped the scattered change into his pocket. My coins.

Later, Mama told me that Jimmy was just thirsty and to stop sniffling. “He’ll return the money soon enough,” she said. I knew that wasn’t true.

On my knees, I gathered up the broken pieces of my kitty-bank. With no more tears left, I seethed, thinking, maybe Mama can take care of herself. And maybe I’ll never talk to her again. Or to Jimmy. And maybe I’ll run away . . . to my real daddy.

(Excerpt from Running in Heels – a continuation of Part I)