This Weird Girl

It’s hard being weird. I am often misunderstood and find out later that my words were hurtful to someone. The consequence of these discoveries over time has resulted in a deeply rooted sense of paranoia.

I remember the words my mother always said when I was feeling shaky about my identity, “Honey, you’re not alone.” I have the best mom. But those words often didn’t soothe my perspective of a situation, and I felt very much alone.

Back in those days, in the mid-90’s, psychology and the internet weren’t a thing. It took late night conversations in the dark with your best friend to finally have the nerve to open up about our secret pain.

As an adult, I never wanted people to feel alone like I did, so I took on a habit of being an open book for the sake of others. It gets me in trouble, A LOT. Even why trying to be vague, sometimes I share too much about others. Sometimes I lack discretion.

Sometimes my descriptive words become offensive. For example, when I tried to describe contemporary evangelical worship in one word: polyester. I was in grad school, explaining the contrast with othervstyles of worship. My classmate took offense because she was in the praise production that I was referring to (and she was wearing polyester). When all I really was trying to convey was that I prefer a quieter, more reverent liturgy. Without lights, cameras, makeup, and dress up clothes.

The contemporary singer from the night (Charity Gayle) didn’t fit into the fancy stage production that was “Worship” that night. She wasn’t wearing make-up, and she looked like she walked on stage after shopping at the thrift store.

I was a 40-something grad student, surrounded by young, beautiful, talented students untouched from the troubles that I’ve lived through thus far. I felt extremely alone and underrepresented. I was paranoid. But Charity was the only time I felt represented. She gives her life for Christ, but she doesn’t fit in. Just like me. My classmate didn’t catch my drift. And I was embarrassed.

I’ve been feeling ashamed of myself since my post on 11/11. I since deleted it. I was poetically processing my journey to a mother of adult children, and it came out all wrong. I am convinced someone was deeply wounded.

Some things shouldn’t be said.