I wore a uniform from my first day of 6th grade all the way through to my high school graduation. For seven years, my only clothing options were a limited number of colored polo shirts, navy blue or khaki uniform pants, and a plaid skirt. Technically I could've worn a jumper too, but the socially cognizant stopped wearing those the day they left the 6th grade.
Options to stand out were rather limited, and with that high school herd instinct, not many wanted to. Even though we got to choose our own shoes and socks, there were a lot of girls wearing black Mary Janes and white knee highs those years in order to fit in. I, however, chose my shoes specifically because of their uniqueness: a pair of purple Converse All-Stars. It was my small way of defying the status quo.
Some people think the words "God" and "church" equate with losing your individuality, and a mandated rigid conformity. If that were the case, I can say honestly that I would not still be here. What I've instead discovered these past few weeks, as I've prayed more than ever before, is that my spunk and self-confidence have both multiplied significantly.
For the past several weeks, my self-confidence had been declining as my anxiety was on the rise. As I became more anxious, I became needy and clingy with Dave. My emotions were on a hair-trigger, and the nights it got set off were late ones for Dave. I was consistently self-conscious and asking for compliments. I felt lost whenever he would have a bad day, and never wanted to disagree with him. I felt increasingly depressed and I didn't slow down long enough to figure out why.
The first smart thing I did was stop over-scheduling myself. I used the new-found time to cry (which I hated), to read, to write, and to pray. I've never been good at praying, but I prayed a lot that week. Probably more than any other week before. And most of those prayers were pretty ugly; but at least I was praying.
I had finally slowed down long enough to look down at my own feet, and I saw I was wearing those damn Mary Janes. I had been striving to meet a status quo that wasn't mine to fulfill, trying to win approval from people who could not satisfy my anxiety, and hadn't been asking The Man In Charge what job He had just for me. So I started praying more, and I started asking.
It really was the praying that made the difference, which surprised me, I think because I've never really understood it. The more I prayed, the bolder I became. I wasn't making decisions to make people happy; I was learning to separate my Self from their reactions.
Dave and I spent yesterday together, and our interaction was vastly different than the past few weeks. When Dave teased me about my clumsiness, I laughed along and teased back. I was already happy and confident, and therefore not pleading for compliments. When he got tired and slightly grouchy at the end of the day, I easily shrugged it off. I wasn't depending on his reaction to define me.
Earlier this week, I confronted a friend on a minor disagreement. Not only did I initiate that discussion, but I didn't need emotional reconstruction after my friend disagreed with me. If the disagreement had come up a week earlier, I would've been paralyzed and said nothing. But this time I myself was marvelously gloriously separate from their reactions, buoyant and resilient.
Prayer had put my purple shoes back on, and God was commending it because they came from Him; He had given me a holy spunk. Since I've been praying more, I have felt more whole and full of spark, bolder and steadier. I've been anything but blending into the ranks or becoming monotone. My roots are deeper and my colors are brighter and my voice is louder and my laugh is fuller since I've been praying. And that's what The Man in Charge is all about.
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