Self Care is My Responsibility.

I have never been especially good at self-care. I have become especially bad at it since getting married. It is not the fault of my marriage. In fact, my husband has been a vocal proponent of self-care. I just thought that my job as a wife was to sacrifice and be selfless, and it is, but I have been doing it to my detriment. I could not figure out how to separate self-care from selfishness, and I did not want to be selfish, so I tried to give up self-care. As you can guess, it did not work out well. I am learning that not practicing self-care actually leads to the kind of selfishness I wish to avoid.

I have many times felt like I needed permission to practice self-care. When I would vocalize this need, my husband would tell me that it was not a need. He already gave me permission. In fact, he encouraged me to practice self-care. That freed me up a little, but I still didn't endorse the idea. It felt selfish practicing self-care when I had responsibilities to do. I knew I had permission to do self-care, but I thought I needed time. Then my husband started intentionally doing more and more for me to try to give me time. I felt ashamed and not good enough to take time away from our daily duties, so I kept working. Self-care could wait.

I have put self-care on the back burner to the point that I do not function well, that my husband has to command me to stop doing what I am doing and stop. That is not the best way to have to practice self-care. It is a selfish way to practice self-care, too, because my actions are requiring my husband to stop what he is doing to take care of me. I have realized that although it is his biblical job to take care of me as the leader of our home, I also have a job in my care, and that is self-care.

My husband gets to know me better and better the longer we are married. He cannot read my mind, though. Only I know what is in my head. Only I know the mental signs that I need a break. To push past them is to disconnect from my body, leaving my head hanging and myself a less functional whole (Rosmarin, as cited in Macpherson, 2021). Only I know what I really need in a moment of tension or stress. My husband can offer ideas, but I have to make the choice. Ultimately, if I am not practicing self-care, I am emptying my husband (and possibly others; he is just the closest to me) of resources instead of giving to him, which is what I am supposed to do as his wife and helpmate.

I have come to the conclusion that self-care is my responsibility. I have to practice self-care to avoid selfishness and to be able to sacrifice. As marriage and family therapist Erin Smalley (2021) says, "It’s my job to make sure I'm full so I’m not serving up leftovers." Leftovers are great in terms of making for a quick bite to eat, not so great in terms of sustenance. My marriage needs sustenance. I need sustenance.

I may not be good at self-care. I may be rusty and out of practice. I may not always know what I want or need. I may feel guilty. These are all excuses, though. The fact is that I need an appropriate amount of self-care, to function in my calling as a wife, and beyond. So here's to learning, to following my husband's leading (he wasn't so wrong about self-care after all) and to getting better, for me and for my household as we seek to serve the Lord (Josh 24:15).

References:

Macpherson, G. (Host). (2021, August 16). "Dr. David H. Rosmarin. Ancient Jewish Wisdom for Modern Mental Health." In The Trauma Therapist. https://www.thetraumatherapistproject.com/podcast/dr-david-h-rosmarin-ancient-jewish-wisdom-for-modern-mental-health

Fuller, J. (Host). (2021, September 7). Listen to the metronome. [Audio podcast episode]. In Focus on the Family Marriage Podcast. Focus on the Family.

Narratives

Narratives. The stories we tell ourselves that may or may not be true, but that influence the way we think. For example, I struggle with feelings of worthiness. The narratives attached to my labeling of myself as "unworthy" are layered. Growing up, I believed that my parents wanted me to be different. That wasn't exactly true, but what stuck with me is that I wasn't good enough. My narrative of long-term singleness is another narrative that spoke into this lie. I felt not good enough to be chosen. Unworthy of love. My husband chose me and I chose him. I thought that would fix my narrative, but somehow it didn't. I feel unworthy in my marriage, like I can’t do enough, be enough, earn enough to deserve my husband’s undying love and favor. I question (internally and externally) if he settled. He tells me he didn't, but I struggle to fully believe him. Sometimes I consciously and subconsciously create scenarios that contribute to my narrative, putting people in positions where they are destined to fail. At it's core, I have shame issues. That narrative overshadows my actions many times, but the thing is, I can fight against the narrative. I can work to write a new narrative.

It takes effort to argue against a long ingrained narrative, but I can choose to do it. I can combat thoughts of unworthiness by remembering times when loved ones have told me I am worthy and cared for. I can practice vulnerability and share with loved ones when I am struggling and need them to help me right my thoughts. I can look for exceptions to my old narrative and write them in a journal for future reference. Perhaps most powerfully, I can go to the enduring Word of God, the Bible, reading and memorizing who God says I am: loved, beloved, delighted in, worth sending Jesus to die for; accepted. I can engage myself in His narrative.

Part of God's narrative for me is hard, though. I am a sinner. Unworthiness is part of that narrative. On my own, I am not good enough. I can never be, good enough. That's the way it's supposed to be, because I’m supposed to find my identity, my worth, my purpose, and my value in Jesus Christ. Only Jesus has enough good things to satisfy my debt of sin, justify me, and make me worthy. When I understand that narrative, I can start to correct my narrative of shame. I can allow God to have His way with me and even allow Him to write my narrative. I know that His narrative will be a true story, one I don't need to combat, but rather one that I can embrace and live out.

Entering the Social Foray

I'm going to enter the social foray for a moment. I may regret it, but the issue at hand is important enough to me to worth the risk. If you disagree, feel free to engage in healthy debate with me. I will discuss, but not argue. And I will not shame. As Brene Brown says, shame is never a good motivator.

With that being said, what I want to discuss is the saying, "God is still on the throne," or better yet, "God is still sovereign." I've seen some posts lately stating that this phrase can be associated with oppression. The argument is that the phrase denotes lack of action by God during horrific world events such as pestilence, famine, plague, and annihilation. If God is still on the throne, why doesn't He act? This philosophical question of why God allows suffering has been around for ages, and I'm not here to answer it. I am here to say that I believe in the truth that God is sovereign and I think we should still say it.

Some argue that instead of saying, "God is is still on the throne," we should say, "God is with us." I can agree with that statement. God is with us, dwelling on earth through the gracious deposit of the Holy Spirit in the hearts of believers. But to say, "God is with us," and not say, "God is still on the throne," I believe, is lacking in theological strength.

God is still on the throne. Scripture says so:

"The One enthroned in heaven laughs; the Lord scoffs at them. He rebukes them in his anger and terrifies them in his wrath, saying, 'I have installed my king on Zion, my holy mountain'” (Ps 2:4-6, New International Version [NIV]).

"He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth, and its people are like grasshoppers. He stretches out the heavens like a canopy, and spreads them out like a tent to live in" (Isaiah 40:22).

"But about the Son he says, “Your throne, O God, will last for ever and ever; a scepter of justice will be the scepter of your kingdom" (Heb 1:8).

God is sovereign. His plans are higher than ours (Isa 55:8-11). He works all things together for our good (Rom 8:28). The circumstances of our lives may not feel good, but God is good, and he can use all things to bring Him glory.

But is the truth that God is sovereign sufficient theology? I argue that it is not. God is also with us. Jesus came to earth as "Immanuel," which means "God with us" (Matt 1:23). And He is coming back (1 Thess 4:16-17)! So it is right to say that God is with us. Let's add this to, "God is still on the throne."

If Jesus came to earth as a baby and ascended after his death and resurrection, though, is God still with us? Yes! God indwells believers through the Holy Spirit (John 14:16). He is a "deposit guaranteeing our inheritance" (Eph 1:14). God is not just sovereign, not just with us, but also in and among us! How cool is that?

God is still on the throne. God is with us. God is in us. The three go together. To make any one statement without the other denies the triune nature of God. And that borders on heresy. That is a problem.

So if you see statements about God being on the throne and you disagree, I encourage you to add an, "and still with us," "and still in us" rather than recommend erasure. Cancel culture gets us nowhere. Good theology? That's a start. For with good theology comes Christlike action, God-imaging, and Holy Spirit inspired movements. The world needs more of those.

*Thank you to my husband for his input into and review of this post.

I Have a Hangover.

No, not that kind of hangover. I don't drink. I have what I'd call "vulnerability hangover*." It's that incredibly confusing and painful state that comes from being so real that it hurts. It's that sensation that you've shared too much, done too much, and want to go back, but can't. I've been extremely vulnerable with myself this weekend, and it's left me feeling overstimulated, overly sensitive and overwhelmed with emotions I can't seem to sort out.

My job requires me to show up and be present with people and their stories each and every day. It's not the kind of job where I can show up and put myself on the shelf. No, I am there in person every day at work, and sometimes, the work is there with me when I leave. I like my job, I really do, but I haven't ever had a job where I've had to be this real, and it's hard. A particular call this past week reminded me of that.

It isn't very often that I go out with people and let loose and really have fun. And I did that this weekend. It reminded me of the value of community and of the importance of activities that really have no extrinsic worth. It was an experience that made me painfully aware that fun and community are seriously lacking in my life.

My parents were out of town this weekend, so schedule and routine were completely up to me. I'm so used to the rhythm of life with my family that decisions like where to sit to do my devotions and what to eat for dinner became overwhelming. I had to really tune in with myself and ask myself what I wanted. And I'm not used to that.

I've lost a lot of myself in my years of moving away from home, getting an education, trying to be perfect, and living an overall inauthentic life. In this process of coming home to Arizona, I'm coming home to myself and feeling the pain of God breaking down the walls of what I have known to make me into who He wants me to be. It's confusing and awkward and strange. 

My life right now is messy and complicated and I'm afraid, but I'm trying to show up. Please be patient with me. I'm in God's workshop and He's not done with me yet.

*I got the term "vulnerability hangover" from Brene Brown, but am using it in a slightly different context here.

Synonyms for Shame

I recently finished I Thought It Was Just Me (But It Isn't) by Brene Brown (2007). It's a book about shame and how it affects our society. (Brown defines shame as “the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing we are flawed and therefore unworthy of acceptance and belonging....Shame creates feelings of fear, blame, and disconnection" (p. 30). It's definitely informed the way I think about some things, for example how I view my words. 

Case in point, when I say, "I've had a crappy day," I'm not usually saying that there's literally been poop all over my day. I'm saying my day's been bad. I'm saying I'm tired. I'm saying the day I've had feels disconnected from the life I'd like to live. I'm usually sending a signal that I either need love and acceptance and belonging.

A second example is when I say, "I feel crappy. " Sometimes I say that because I have stomach ailments. But most of the time it's because I feel self-conscious, run down, disconnected from myself and from others. I feel afraid. I feel ashamed. It just seems more socially acceptable to say the word "crappy." (Note that I didn't say socially correct.)

My own experience with synonyms for shame make me wonder what other code words are out there. And it makes me ask why we're so afraid of saying we're ashamed. Is it because we're guilty and don't want to change our behavior? Is it because in this culture of rampant individuality and self-seeking we don't want to be vulnerable and acknowledge that we don't have it all together? I don't know. I just know that using synonyms for what I'm really feeling isn't really honest or authentic or real. So now that I know how shame presents itself, maybe I need to call it out, and call it what it is.

Friends, do you use synonyms for shame? If yes, what words do you use? Please share below.

Things I'd Like to Lose To Live a Healthier Life

'Tis the season to diet. Okay, so we're past the New Year and into February, but I still hear diet talk everywhere:

• "I can't have that. I'm on X diet." 
• "X pounds lost. X to go." 
• "I've gotta lose weight before X event."

You know what I want to say? Food is just one part of life! Okay, yeah, some people want to lose weight and I don't want to shame them about that, but for me, there are a whole lot of things I'd like to lose other than weight:

1. Anger at myself and others for misdeeds done, because we could all use a little more love and grace.
2. Unforgiveness, because it does more harm to me than it does to my offenders.
3. Comparison, because I'll never be as good as them, and they'll never be like me. We're our own people, unique and beautiful in our own ways.
4. Shame. There's a fine line between guilt that motivates me to change my behavior and shame that backs me into a corner and prevents me from making connections. (See Brene Brown's book.) I don't want to live there.
5. Rules and expectations about what I should do, whether it comes to food, exercise, social interactions, or something else. Most of these areas are value-neutral, so I'd like to lose the rules and enjoy life instead of trying to fit my life into one little box.

Excuse me if I'm being presumptious, but if I could lose the weight of these five things, I think I'd be a whole lot healthier than I would be on any one diet.

What about you, friends? What would you like to lose to become a healthier version of you? (And please don't say pounds. That's clearly not the point of this post.) Please share in the comments section.

I'm linking up with Amanda at Running with Spoons for this Thinking Out Loud post.

*This post was inspired by "The Numbers That Count" by Rachael Hartley.

What a Gray T-Shirt Taught Me About Blame

"Who put this gray work shirt in with my white load of laundry?" I grumbled as I pulled the wet clothes out of the laundry. Roughly yanking up the shirt and unfolding it, what did I discover? It was my "good" t-shirt, and I put it in the white load of laundry to keep it away from the dirty gray "work" shirts.

I am so guilty of blaming other people for my problems. And I do it without ever trying to investigate the facts or gain perspective on the situation. Blaming other people keeps me from realizing my contributions to problems. It keeps me from feeling my own pain and shame when I screw up. It can keep me from being accountable for the consequences of my own actions. 

I want and need to be quicker to investigate and slower to judge. I need to be faster to admit fault and slower to cast blame. The world might be a better place if I did (or at least I'd have a better attitude about that gray shirt in the laundry).

(Brene Brown's video on blame is excellent and the source of some of my thoughts here.)

I'm linking up with Amanda at Running with Spoons for this Thinking Out Loud post.