I’m writing this post after two vodka/sodas.
And if you know anything about me, then you know…I am properly pissed.
I actually have never written a tipsy blog post before. Believe it or not, even the Feminism post was written stone cold sober.
Stone Cold Steve Austin…I wonder what that dude is up to now…
Anyway. Enough about wrestling.
I just want to get married before I get smile lines.
I heard my three year old niece talk about her future husband today….that made me feel pretty…oh, I don’t know…like a spinster cat lady.
I looked at her and said, “Yeah, Aunt Caralyn needs to find a husband too.”
It’s kind of the running joke in my family, actually. My sister-in-law is trying to set me up with her neighbor. I’m not complaining.
And I have a small contingent of friends who seriously, and I mean, legitimately want me to be a contestant on The Bachelor.
But I had a really special conversation the other day with one of my mom’s friends. It was at one of her “friend meet ups” that she’s been doing as part of her stroke recovery.
The conversation got going, and it turned to me, and how I’m still shockingly single.
And the woman looked at me and said, “You deserve to be loved.”
It was actually a really moving conversation. This woman, I see her every weekend at church, and she’s this beautiful, effervescent woman, and she was telling me how she struggles with the same harmful feelings I do: she struggles with feeling worthy of love.
I felt like I was sitting there listening to myself speak, except 30 years older.
Same apprehensions. Same self-doubt. It was all too familiar.
I don’t know about you, but I have a very masochistic tendency, and I hate to admit it, but then, what haven’t I kept from you…
It involves…social media.
Basically, I sometimes find that my browser has meandered its way onto my ex-boyfriends’ facebook or Instagram profiles. Just seeing. Not that I’m pining for them, but I’m just looking at who they ended up with.
Well, she’s got a better rack than I do.
I bet she’s funnier, smarter, more sophisticated, more [insert adjective here] –er.
And after 10 minutes go by, and I find myself in photos from themed college parties in 2010, I have to just stop and go, Caralyn, what the hell are you doing? Get a life!
Anyone else? Bueller?
And, maybe I shouldn’t be confessing this. Maybe this is tonight’s version of a drunk text to an ex, albeit, this version is public and utterly humiliating, but I think this reveals something.
And I definitely don’t think I’m alone in this Facebook creeping tendency.
I think deep down, in our quest to be loved, we want to see the picture of what – or rather, who – was more worthy of love. At least to that particular person.
But if I’m being really honest, those men’s profiles that I’m looking at, are all men that I pushed away.
They loved me.
And not like in a Cher-from-Clueless, “OMG they love me” sort of way…
…but an ernest, they actually had strong, next-step-marriage-esq feelings for me.
And I pushed them away.
I always blamed it on my “selfish season of life,” persuing acting, but the truth is, I was unable to accept the love they were giving me.
I felt I didn’t deserve it.
That by becoming vulnerable and showing who I really am, that I would be deemed a disappointment.
And all of this stems back to my battle with anorexia, and the lie that I believed that I was a burden and unworthy of love. And even though I have fought through that, and found my worth in Jesus, love is still an area in my life that I just haven’t found the ability to surrender and fully heal yet.
Tonight, as I was turning in for the night, my dad gave me a hug goodnight, and he just held me a little longer and said, “Don’t be afraid to let somebody love you, okay? It’s good. It’s really, really good.”
I think my dad is the best man in the world, if you haven’t caught on to that already. 🙂
But talk about speaking directly into my soul.
“Don’t be afraid to let somebody love you…”
I think it’s really peculiar that this is all drumming up during Lent.
Here we are, in the season preparing for Jesus’ death on the cross…the ultimate demonstration of just how much He loves us…enough to die for.
All of Lent so far, I’ve been kind of, I don’t know…luke-warming it. And I’m ashamed to admit it, but I haven’t really committed to giving up or doing anything special for Lent. Sure, I’ve decided to “pray more,” but what the heck does that even mean? That’s frankly a cop out in my book.
I’ve honestly thought that, you know, here I am, I’ve left my life in NYC to come home to help my mom recover from her stroke, what more can I give up during this season, Lord? I’m all “gived out.”
Which, I fully realize how disgustingly pompous that is, but I think I’ve now finally realized what I’m supposed to “give up” for Lent.
Or rather, what I’m supposed to do.
I’m supposed to let Jesus love me.
Because right now, I know that with my brain, but I need to let it move in my heart. I need to claim it at a soul level. Enough to change me.
Because if I can’t fully accept the love that He’s poured out for me, how the heck should I expect to accept it from anybody else?
Accepting His love is a precursor to letting a mere mortal guy – preferably a 20-something, Brad-Pitt lookalike – letting that guy love me.
It all comes down to truly believing I’m worth it.
That I’m not too broken to garner such love. From Jesus or from a guy.
Maybe that’s the lesson I’m supposed to walk away from this Lent having learned.
And just maybe, come this time next year, I’ll be able to tell my niece a different answer. Tell her that Aunt Caralyn did find love and a future husband.
Because she’s worth it.
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