If you’re one of those former homecoming queens who looks back on your high school existence with stars in your eyes then I’m happy for you, but that’s not me.
Or rather it wasn’t me. I was probably the girl standing on the sidelines looking longingly at the crown, just wishing to touch the skirts of high school royalty.
I wasn’t happy with me, and I looked to others to validate my feelings of worth. I never quite fit in. I didn’t have a clique. I was a cheerleader, but simply because I tried so hard to find my niche. I was smart, but didn’t really fit in with the brainy girls. I was in all the clubs, but never quite found myself in the realm of popularity.
In actuality I was the outcast, the girl always trying really hard to fit in, but somehow always falling short. That was high school in a nutshell for me, and it was utterly exhausting.
As I grew older I became more comfortable in my own skin. I started to see my peculiar character traits for what they were. They were me and I was totally cool with that.
Yet sometimes that young, insecure girl, longing for acceptance amongst her female peers, peeks through. And though I saw her less and less since I had entered my 30’s, occasionally when I found myself around a group of women I flounder along as I search for my particular rhythm that made me who I was meant to be, not who I thought I should be.
Recently I spent a week around women I work with, and though I’ve become way more comfortable in my own skin since I was a teenager, there’s something about spending time in the company of other females that leaves me feeling as if I’m lacking. I wouldn’t even say it’s due to any action on their part.
It’s just my insecurities. It’s my longing to be well-liked. Am I the only woman like this? Am I the only woman who wishes she wasn’t quite so weird?
Somehow when I hang out around a bunch of women for an extended period of time I always end up feeling like I’m back in high school. It’s like cheerleading camp all over again, and the cool, pretty girls have short-sheeted my bed again. One is telling me to put on some makeup and another is rolling her eyes behind my back while trying to be nice to me since her mom is making her.
In those moments of realization that, “yes, Brie, you’re still a square peg,” I have to talk myself off the ledge of insecurity and remind myself of what really matters.
God made me exactly as I am.
So while I do think a lot of my longing for acceptance is due to my upbringing, past rejections in life, and more nurture than nature, for the most part my personality is what it is because God made me to be me.
I am a square peg, but then again, God designed me with the perfect square hole in mind. He created me overly sensitive so I might better empathize with my fellow man. He made me not quite like the rest so I could stand apart and better visualize the world around me. I may not fit into this world, but whoever said that’s a bad thing? The important part is this.
I am made in His image.
So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them. (Genesis 1:27)
Whenever I feel less, because sometimes I will, it’s best to remember in whose image I am created.
Although I am more comfortable with myself, and I do love being me, I’m also human. And sometimes I’ll feel like I’m not enough. In those moments I am best reminded of my heritage. I am best reminded for whom and after whom I was designed.
Whenever I feel like I’m not good enough, smart enough, successful enough, or even enough.
Whenever I think I’m a failure as a mother, a failure as a wife, a failure as a nurse, a failure as a friend, or even a failure as a Christian.
When I feel unworthy, unlovable, or even expendable.
When I feel like I don’t fit in, I don’t measure up, and there’s no way I can even keep up.
I am made in His image.
And that is more than good enough for me.
Brie is a 30-something (sliding ever closer to forty-something) wife and mother. When she’s not loving on her hubby, bouncing a happy baby on one hip while soothing her preschooler on the other, or teaching her six year old at the kitchen table, she enjoys cooking, reading, and writing down her thoughts to share with others. But honestly she loves nothing more than watching a great movie, or a hot bath, alone if the children allow. Which never happens.