braving the wilderness

The woman has done it again.

She’s managed to articulate both heady research and honest story in a way that tugs at my heartstring like a great-dane tugs its keeper. Brene Brown, you're a whiz.

If this woman’s name does not ring a bell, or, if it does and you have yet to savor one of her books, I urge you to. Her research, conclusions, and convictions are widely applicable to our souls, our relationships, and our world at large. I’m risking exaggeration by saying no other author has influenced my understanding of my humanness and my brain as much as Brene has. I wholeheartedly believe that if more people were willing to believe that what she says is both true and meaningful, our world might have a deeper sense of empathy and connection.

Brene’s most recent book, “Braving the Wilderness” explores the theme of belonging.

Don’t worry, I will not disclose much, as I’ve only explored the first chapter. But it struck me down deep, like a hard punch in the gut.

She tells her story, the story of a girl who learned to become an expert-fitter in, a social chameleon. She grew into this skin as a result of a self-constructed story that cast her as alone and unworthy of love and true belonging. Her fitting-in superpowers were top of the line.

Fitting-in superpowers are a real thing and they were, I so thought, my biggest asset in both high school and college.

Lets briefly time-travel back to high school. I strived for super grades, just so I could blend in with the group of friends I found myself in most of the time- the super smart ones that were equally cool. I’d stay up until 2 in the morning, anxiously studying, just so I could compete with their grades and feel like I belonged in their group. When I became a Christian, I unabashedly talked about Jesus like the other Student Venture kids did. I walked around totally unashamed of my bulky pink Bible and my brown leather journal on retreats because that’s what the cool kids did. When I got around my family, however, especially my extended family, I totally toned down the Christian dial, afraid I wouldn’t be perceived as “cool” or, worse, that I would be perceived as “weird” or worse, “wrong”.

I was a drama kid, a thespian. The drama kids partied. I secretly partied with them, getting drunk at cast parties, while making sure my Christian friends would not find out. (Emmy, if you’re reading these words, I hope you are rewinding to sophomore year and laughing out loud). I accessed those fitting-in superpowers to make sure I would remain accepted in both groups. I also desperately wanted to be a dancer, and I wanted to be as good as my super talented dance friends. I was totally after the triple-threat status. So, not only did I take ballet, jazz, modern, and hip-hop, but I forced my feet that were not made for pointe shoes into pointe shoes and desperately tried to eradicate my naturally athletic, non-ballerina body shape. Truly, I should have stuck to tennis.

I got to college, and though I willed myself to leave these self-destructive patterns behind, I absolutely took them with me. The whole lot of ‘em. Chameleoning had become all I knew. My perfectionism and people-pleasing skills equipped me to do a lot of things- be in “the best” sorority, achieve leadership positions in well-known campus organizations, keep a perfect GPA, get hired at the Visitor’s Center, win awards, stay involved in student ministry...the list goes on and on. Chameleoning kept me safe and kept me feeling like I mattered...sorta. As the accolades soared, my anxiety deepened and I became a stranger to myself. I wanted, desperately, to trust that what Jesus said about me and thought about me would cover me completely, arrest my mind totally, but I was scared and sad and depressed. I had gained weight during my freshman and sophomore year on account of having zero concept of self-care and consistently turning to emotional eating to cope with my anxiety.

All this chameleoning had left me a complete stranger to my own self, with no sense of belonging to myself, a slave to shame. My fitting-in super powers had absolutely failed me. When I hit rock bottom, I became acquainted with anorexia nervosa and an addiction to exercise. Shame and addiction go hand in hand; shame very often leads to addiction and in the midst of addiction, shame exaggerates itself. It is a ruthless cycle. On my journey in recovery, I was forced to reckon with not only the disease itself, but with the years and years of shame that had captured my identity and held it hostage. And my story, like all stories involving broken humans, is not one that can be tied up with a nice big bow and a “happily ever after”.

Healing is a journey. It’s often pretty long if you are willing to get honest with yourself and do the work of peeling back the hard and painful layers. These past few years of my life have been mostly about me acquainting myself with my true self, like a baby finding its toes for the first time. It has been about shedding my chameleon skin and having the courage to show up and be my authentic self, no matter the circumstance or group or setting. This is the journey of abandoning perfectionism and embracing intimacy so that we can be free to believe that we are beloved, and even more so, that we belong. It sounds lovely, but the work is gritty, often scary, and remarkably hard. You must become brave, you must learn to sit with all things uncomfortable, and you must become acquainted with vulnerability.

In “Braving the Wilderness”, Brene says, “As I dug deeper into true belonging, it became clear that it’s not something we achieve or accomplish with others; it’s something we carry in our heart. Once we belong thoroughly to ourselves and believe thoroughly in ourselves, true belonging is ours.”

My belief is that we have two obvious, polarizing choices: we can either believe that we belong or we can deny it. In choosing the former, we open ourselves up to abundance, freedom, play, and joy. In choosing the later, we subject ourselves to shame, addiction, anger and fear. The choice is not black or white, nor is it a choice that we make one time and never have to make again. It’s a choice we are asked to make every new day. Will we dare to believe that perhaps we were made out of love, for love, and to love? Will we dare to believe that owning our stories, all of them, is necessary for experiencing a full, free life? Will we dare to believe that we matter enough, we are loved enough, to embrace ourselves fully and to allow others to embrace us too?

If we want a healthier, happier, more peaceful planet, we have to do this work. It starts with us. It starts with getting honest, showing up, being brave, and daring to believe in the power of our light. It starts with recognizing that while we are totally, radically imperfect, we are totally, radically loved. It is the most mysterious, nuanced paradox.