Sunday, August 23, 2015

A Lesson in Humility

     Two weeks ago, I confessed the sin of pride. It struck me, as I was waiting in line, that I could not remember confessing it before. Which is kind of a huge oversight on my part, considering how proud I am, as those few who are close to me can attest. This past year, and definitely this last pregnancy, have been one really long lesson in humility, and I'm afraid I haven't been learning as quickly or as well as I ought. 
     As much as I may seem to be a go with the flow kind of person, deep down I really like, and on a certain level need, to be in control. Not of everything, mind you, but of certain things. I guess that's not really saying much, since it seems to be part of the human condition. Anyway, losing control of those things causes me to feel like my security blanket has been stripped away, that I'm left drowning with no hope of recovery. The feeling is made that much worse when the control was so attached to what seemed like your very essence.
     My two major points of pride were my ability to govern (i.e. hide) my emotions, and how physically capable I was. This past year has derailed me on both counts. Admitting to myself that I could no longer control my emotions was extremely difficult, and admitting that to even close friends was nearly impossible, but somehow I managed. Looking in the mirror, seeing my body deteriorate, even if only a little, nearly broke me. My identity has been so tied to strength for so long that I have lost sight of who I am. In some ways it has been a good thing, being broken down like that; it has lead to some deep soul searching, trying to figure out how I came to identify the way I did, but I am still sort of at a loss for where to go from here. Not that I'm done examining myself, there are still a few more posts that need to be added to Ashamed & Afraid, which will eventually happen some day. 
     What I realized while waiting my turn for confession, though, is that I am still so proud. In spite of being broken down, and even admitting how broken I was, I was still too proud to accept help. Even though I've blogged about it multiple times (here, here, here), I'm still really bad at taking care of me, and I think that stems from a mix of being too proud to allow people to help me out and do things for me, and not considering myself worth taking care of. If I'm not doing the things I usually do, and am instead taking "time off", then it feels as though I am useless, and not pulling my weight. I forget that my worth and value does not come from how strong I can be, how well I do my work without help, but rather from the fact that I am a daughter of God, made in His image and likeness, and that is enough. 

As this post is long enough, I'll continue the subject briefly in my next one. 

2 comments:

  1. Wow this is a good post! Lots of deep insight. My kids are hard, but they purify me! I'm a much better Catholic and writer b/c I've struggled so intensely with my emotions (and my body) while raising them. Good job! Keep going deep!

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    1. Thanks! I'm starting to remember more frequently that all of this is to help me get to heaven. It makes it a bit easier that way.

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