A Girl Like Me http://agirlikeme.com Wed, 22 Jun 2016 12:00:05 +0000 en-US hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=4.2.2 Decisions, Decisionshttp://agirlikeme.com/decisions-decisions/ http://agirlikeme.com/decisions-decisions/#comments Wed, 22 Jun 2016 12:00:05 +0000 http://agirlikeme.com/?p=2566 Decisions

I hate decision making.

Seriously, ask me where I want to go for dinner and the answer will almost always be “I don’t care.” And once we get wherever we eventually decide on, I need 10 minutes to look at the menu, and I still change my mind a dozen times before I finally order.

Give me the task of choosing a movie to watch, an ice cream flavor, what shoes go best with your outfit or what to name your goldfish and I will agonize over it.

And multiple choice on tests…don’t get me started. Even Buzzfeed quizzes give me anxiety.

…Have I mentioned I HATE making decisions?

I guess it all comes down to this fear that I’m going to make the wrong choice. I’m so afraid that whatever I choose, I’ll end up regretting it later. Yes, even the smallest, most seemingly-insignificant things. Somehow I still get hung up on which one is the “right” choice.

So as you can probably imagine, I reeeally don’t do well with big life decisions.

I think sometimes on the outside it looks easy.

Drop out of college to travel the country with a ministry? Sure! Move over 600 miles away from my family without a clue where I’m going to live or work? Psh, no big deal.

In reality, if anyone got ahold of my journals from around those times, you’d see that the journey leading up to those decisions was one big terrifying, complicated, confusing headache.

I recently had two job offers. At the same time. And I, of course, panicked.

Both were great places that I would be so happy to work for – great environments, great people, just all-around great opportunities! But that was not quite the answer to prayer I was looking for.

I need clear-cut direction. At least I think I do, anyway. I want to see one door open and the other one shut so that I know without a doubt which one I’m supposed to walk through. Better yet, I want big flashing arrows, neon signs, a yellow brick road and an “X” to mark the spot.

Two open doors with perfect little welcome mats doesn’t help my decision making.

I wrestled with it for a while. I prayed so hard about which was the right job, but I felt like God was giving me the silent treatment. I went back and forth all day with the pros and cons of each, but kept coming up with the same answer – I couldn’t go wrong with either option.

But that was just it. I was so focused on which one was right that I couldn’t see that neither one was wrong. God had given me a choice, not to test me and see if I’d choose the right path, but to show me that sometimes there’s more than one right answer…and His will will be done either way, no matter which I choose.

I think maybe the deeper root of my fear is that I’m worried I’ll mess up God’s master plan for my life. Part of me seems to believe that I somehow have the power to ruin everything with just one wrong move.

But the truth is, if we’re loving, following and serving Christ, and if the options before us allow us to live within that calling, I don’t really think there can be a wrong choice. We just have to pick a path. Because no matter what we choose, God is in control.

And if somehow we do make the wrong choices, we serve a God who chooses redemption and who decides daily to craft beauty from our mistakes…and His decisions are never wrong.

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Someone’s Somewherehttp://agirlikeme.com/someones-somewhere/ http://agirlikeme.com/someones-somewhere/#comments Wed, 15 Jun 2016 19:41:33 +0000 http://agirlikeme.com/?p=2559 6359238970132928841166286349_best-friends-quotes-hands

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always struggled with the whole friendship thing. Never having the same friends from season to season, friendship for me has always felt like either a flood or a drought: more friends than I care to handle or so few that I wonder if anyone likes me at all.

In the last two years, heck, the last six months, God has really opened my eyes to what I desire in a friend and how I want to be as a friend. But I’m finding the more that understanding grows, the farther off having these kind of friends start to feel.

See, I don’t want nine million friends. Shoot, I don’t even feel like I want nine friends. What I do want are Somewheres.

Somewheres, a term coined by author Sarah Bessey, are your people. The ones you can say anything to. The one you can tell that dirty joke you just heard, the not so humble brag about yourself, and the horrible ugly thoughts that nestle deep inside your heart. Somewheres are the ones you can call at two in the morning and will let you ugly cry on the phone with them and not feel like they have to say anything because just being there is enough. Somewheres, in my opinion, are friendship in it’s rawest and most beautiful form and yet also the hardest type to cultivate.

Friendship like this just doesn’t happen over night and it never comes handed to us on a silver platter. It takes work. Lots of work. It’s give and take. Sacrifice and vulnerability. It’s daring to let someone see you and being gentle and kind enough when they let you see them. It’s forgiveness lived out. It’s rarely perfect, always messy, and one of the most life-giving things you’ll ever experience. It’s the gospel made flesh.

In journeying towards these kinds of friendships, my own insecurity and self-doubt begins to creep in and I start to wonder if anyone thinks, or better yet, wants me to be their Somewhere. Simply put, I wonder if anyone wants me to be their friend as badly as I want to be theirs.

In the last two years as God has been breaking and mending me in the best of ways, I’ve seen a lot of friendships that I held dear fade away. Some by the natural course of life and distance, and others because one or the both of us felt we were not the friend the other needed at this point in our life. Whichever way they’ve left, I always wonder if they miss me like I miss them and if I meant as much to them as they did to me.

Then comes the task of trying to make new friends. Seriously, I’d rather have a root canal than work at new friendships. I generally don’t make great first impressions, and can sometimes come across as a little “too much” when in a group of people. I can be an over-sharer, which leads me to constantly feeling like I said too much or talked more about myself than I should, or didn’t seem like I really wanted to hear about the other person. And that’s where my problem lies: I want to be someone’s Somewhere so badly that I’m constantly insecure about whether people feel I am worthy of such a title.

There have been women, even now, that I desperately want to be friends with. Some I’m already friends with but would love to go deeper and some who I’ve only scratched the surface with. Amazing women who share my same heart and passions. I’ve cried tears over wanting to be their friend, prayed prayers, and pep talked myself multiple times into taking that step to reach out and ask them to be my friend. But that’s as far as it goes. Because at the end of the day, I’m afraid.

I’m afraid I’ll be rejected. I’m afraid that because they haven’t reached out to me first that that means they really don’t want to be my friend so there’s no point in trying. I’m afraid that since I’ve been wounded by other close friends, that if I let them in, they’ll eventually do the same to me. All these fears pile on top of me, paralyzing me, and putting me right back in the place I never wanted to be in the first place. Alone.

I could sit all day wondering why I don’t get called to hang out. I could stew and complain how I feel like no one is pursuing me as a friend, but in the end, maybe they’re just as scared as I am. Maybe, like me, they want to be a Somewhere but are trying to find the courage to get there. Because like I said, this business of being seen is a messy one. It’s risky. But the reward is priceless.

Today I’m praying the prayer that Brene Brown mentions in her book Daring Greatly: “Lord, give me the courage to show up and let myself be seen.” Who knows, maybe my next Somewhere is just around the corner. All I have to do is step out and try.

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Scaredy Cathttp://agirlikeme.com/scaredy-cat/ http://agirlikeme.com/scaredy-cat/#comments Wed, 08 Jun 2016 12:30:38 +0000 http://agirlikeme.com/?p=2544 woods

I can’t speak Spanish and I can’t dance, so you’d never know I’m Colombian, but it’s true.

 

My grandma, “Lulu” who loves all things tropical, tells us stories of how the weather in Colombia was—balmy and breezy and plants live year-round. My grandpa was a neurosurgeon and helped people he knew could never pay him. My dad grew up playing soccer and sneaking into the neighbors cherry tree with his brothers to eat the ripe fruit.

So life there sounds beautiful except for the hard parts. Like the time when they came home and thieves had emptied their house of everything valuable. Or when the neighbor kids were kidnaped for ransom. Or when my dad was jumped on the street walking home from school. My dad learned to watch his back because he lived in a place where if you weren’t careful, you’d be taken advantage of or stolen from.

When Brendon, my husband, visited my family’s house before we started dating, my dad told him, “This place is like Alcatraz, man. I see everything.” Laugh all you want, but it wasn’t a joke. (Insert crying smiling emoji face here)

He probably wouldn’t be too happy with me if I disclosed his multiple security systems, but lets just say when a “Secret Admirer” left an anonymous note in our mailbox with a rose one afternoon when I was in high school, my dad and I watched the security camera footage to find out who it was. HAHAHA POOR GUY!

 

So I feel very safe in my parents house. I grew up being taken care of and my mom always nurtured my intuition of knowing if a person or place was unsafe. She would point out potential dangerous situations and she taught me to be alert and walk like a boss through dark parking lots at night (and maybe carrying pepper spray). 😉 Having parents that are aware is a GIFT. They taught me well and have always reminded me that God will surround me in whatever situation. He is a fierce guardian and He is my strength.

 

But that lie creeps in. You’re. Not. Safe.

 

When I’m home alone or by myself, the questions come… Are the doors locked? Is the alarm on? Are there people outside rustling around? What was that noise? Am I going to be okay? How will I defend myself if someone gets in? Am I safe at home alone? Can anyone tell I’m afraid? Should I sleep with a knife by my bed?

These are all questions I’ve asked myself and I know I’m not alone. Being “fearless” is kind of trendy (that’s a T Swift song, right?) but let’s be real. Fear is a bitch. (excuse my language) But seriously.

I’m afraid of losing control. I’m afraid of being taken away from the people I love. I’m afraid that I’ll be found out… that I’m not that strong.

 

I know that because I’m writing about fear it seems like I should have some insight or inspirational advice, but I don’t. I’ve been thinking about why I’m afraid sometimes for THREE DAYS. And turns out, I haven’t really settled it, but I do know one thing:

 

When I’m scared, I pray.

 

So maybe that’s it. I still don’t fully understand why some places and situations make me nervous, but I do know what to do to calm my racing heart down. Praying helps me acknowledge that God is all around me and I remember that He says that He will guard me. Fear doesn’t define me, but the little moments of asking Him to be close when I am afraid is lifechanging. I will keep wrestling with this until I see my heart more clearly because I know that God can grow me out of this fear little by little.

If you’re afraid of losing someone or something, of being uncertain, of being alone at night, you’re definitely not alone, girlfriend. Even when it’s confusing,

What are you afraid of? What have you learned that has calmed your fears?

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Dirty Little Secret: I’ll Do It Tomorrowhttp://agirlikeme.com/dirty-little-secret-ill-do-it-tomorrow/ http://agirlikeme.com/dirty-little-secret-ill-do-it-tomorrow/#comments Wed, 01 Jun 2016 13:00:23 +0000 http://agirlikeme.com/?p=2541 IMG_2103

I am a major procrastinator.

I’m the queen of “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

I always pack for trips the day before I leave…and end up staying awake half the night to get it all done.

In high school, homework was not done and papers were not written until the night before.

In college, it was more like the morning of.

I once waited to get an oil change until I was 1,000 miles overdue.

I’m the girl who will pass a dozen gas stations, but wait until my tank is empty and my gas light comes on to actually stop and fuel up.

I often put off getting groceries until I have practically no food and have no choice but to finally stop at the Kroger I drive past every. single. day.

I’ve been living in Nashville for almost a year now and I still haven’t gotten a Tennessee drivers license or license plate.

 

If I’m honest…I can be a little lazy. (…orrrr maybe a lot lazy…) When something needs to be done, I can think of a billion other things I would rather do at the moment that don’t involve me thinking, speaking or moving. (And by a billion I mean Netflix.)

And the funniest part? I’ve even procrastinated writing a blog post about procrastination.

I sat down to start writing this a week ago, feeling really great about myself for being ahead of the game and not waiting until the last minute. But before typing a single word, I of course had to get a snack. Then I downloaded some new music to listen to while I worked. I checked all the social medias…ya know, get it out of the way so that would be one less thing I’d be tempted to do once I started writing. I went upstairs to get something, forgot what I’d gone up for, and came back down to my computer.

Focus, Chelsea, focus.

I got hungry again. I made pizza. I unloaded the dishwasher. I called my mom. I danced around the kitchen, loudly singing songs from various musicals, while waiting for water to boil so I could make tea. I took a bathroom break (though what exactly I needed a “break” from, I’m not sure). I checked social media again (I had to have missed something at this point). I remembered what I wanted upstairs, so before I could forget again, I went back up…to get nail polish so I could paint my nails. I thought about watching the two episodes I have left to finish 30 Rock, but quickly decided against it because, well, I didn’t need to get myself distracted… (HA!).

By the time that was all said and done, I had to leave for work…and that document I had opened on my computer two hours ago was still blank.

But now, here I sit, the day I’m supposed to send my post to Heather and Nina for editing, and I’m completely focused. Typing away. Zero distractions.

I don’t know what it is about the last minute that triggers an unbreakable focus that I can’t seem to find any sooner. I don’t like it. It only causes stress and usually lack of sleep. Let’s just say you start taking your time a little more seriously when you pull an (almost) all-nighter to write a paper, then sleep through your alarm and don’t make it to class to turn it in. Not a good feeling. Trust me. So I’m working on the self-discipline to prioritize better and do things in a more timely manner. Maybe I’ll get a planner or something…maybe if I “schedule” time to do specific things I’ll actually stick to it…maybe I’ll buy one on my way home from work today…

Eh, who am I kidding, I’ll do it tomorrow. 😉

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Dirty Little Secrets- Don’t Touchhttp://agirlikeme.com/dirty-little-secrets-dont-touch/ http://agirlikeme.com/dirty-little-secrets-dont-touch/#comments Wed, 25 May 2016 13:00:30 +0000 http://agirlikeme.com/?p=2534

**DISCLAIMER: The content talked about in this post is of a mature and sexual nature. If you are uncomfortable with this type of material,  a young reader, or my grandma, please consider not reading. Thanks.**

Her name was Mindy. She lived up the street from me and we were in the same fourth grade class together. Her mom was a single parent so Mindy was home alone a lot. Often when I’d go over to play with her we’d be left alone in the house, no one to supervise what kind of trouble we might have been getting into.

Sometimes secrets come to you in obvious ways. Other times, they sneak in the back door. 

It was a typical afternoon at Mindy’s house. We had been playing with some Barbies when she told me she had something to show me.

In her room she had a daybed but not the pull out trundle bed that typically lived underneath. We’d often crawl in there and imagine we were hiding away on some kind of mysterious adventure. You know, kid stuff. However, this day, it became a place where secrets were born.

She began to tell me me she wanted to show me something that feels really good. What followed is a bit foggy still in my memory simply because, at the time, I didn’t have a name for what she showed me. Now I know it to be masturbation. I was nine.

For the next decade I would occasionally engage in masturbation,  knowing somewhere in my heart that it was wrong, feeling confused as to why it felt good, and still not understanding exactly what I was doing. It was a tornado of fear, shame, embarrassment and pleasure.

These kind of things weren’t talked about in the circles I operated in. My youth group would have never thrown around the word masturbation, and if they did, it was behind closed doors in hushed conversations. As I grew, I learned the word and what it meant, but only that it was a foul and horrific act that only the grossest of men ever struggled with. Women don’t lust and we most certainly NEVER ever touched ourselves.

I’m really not sure when all the pieces finally started to fit together and I had my big “ah-ha” moment that what I had been doing all those years was masturbation. Maybe I had known all along but was finally able to actually admit it. I don’t know. I just remember feeling like crap and thinking I had become one of those disgusting people my youth group leaders talked about.

I wish I could tell you the moment that the “ah-ha” came, my desire to masturbate left. But it didn’t. It took time. Lots of false starts and set backs. It was in the tiny everyday choices to desire something better for myself, and changing my thoughts to actually believe I was worth that something better, that finally made me stop altogether. But it was a long road.

The shame, well that one took a bit longer to go away. Honestly, I’m not sure it’s really left me yet. There are still moments I still feel like that scared little girl, hiding under that bed, wondering what just happened to my innocence. I get afraid that people (aka my friends and family) will find out and hate me and think I’m gross. I still struggle to believe that God has even forgiven me for it.

Maybe you’re in the thick of sexual sin right now. Maybe, like me, you’re caught between shame and freedom; longing for one but stuck in the other. Hear me when I say this: YOU ARE NOT TOO BROKEN OR IMPURE OR VILE TO GAIN FREEDOM. These places?  This is where grace is born. These battles? Well, they are the catalysts for growth and joy, and yes, even life.

I’ve been struggling to find a way to end this post well. How to wrap this messy topic up in a bow that will make it all nice and pretty and wonderful. But I got nothing. Because life isn’t like a tv show and things don’t just magically work out in forty five minutes.

So, instead, I am choosing pray a prayer for you. May it meet us both where we need it.

I pray that you will know that you ARE loved and are WORTHY of love.

I pray you know that even in your sin you are treasured and valued.

I pray that you would see that in these dark places, light is shining through, you just have to look for it.

I pray you would seek out the light.

I pray that you would see that there is an army of women, me included, who have walked the path before you and are ready to link arms and go to war for the freedom of your heart.

I pray you’d be brave.

I pray you’d find the courage to tell your secrets and let yourself be known.

I pray that those you tell would receive you with grace and love.

I pray you’d choose more for yourself than immediate and fleeting pleasure.

I pray that you would feel God’s grace, love and mercy, even in the middle of your sin.

I pray for you to give yourself grace. That you’d believe that it’s more about the journey rather than the destination. That you’d know freedom doesn’t come overnight, but that it will come.

And lastly, I pray that you and I would know that these secrets, well they may speak into our past, but they don’t dictate our future.

Lived loved sweet friend. Embracing hope with you. -H

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Be There in 5 (aka 15)http://agirlikeme.com/be-there-in-5-aka-15/ http://agirlikeme.com/be-there-in-5-aka-15/#comments Wed, 18 May 2016 12:00:41 +0000 http://agirlikeme.com/?p=2530 watch

So I’m addicted to Veggie Straws, I have warts on my right knee, my husband says my hobbies are grandma-like, and I was once entirely convinced that I was going to marry Nick Jonas (Don’t tell me you weren’t too. YES, he was WAY cuter than Joe. Kevin was taken. End of argument.)

And girl, I am always late. Not by two hours, but almost always by two minutes. Sometimes I can make it up by running instead of walking or taking a few liberties with the speed limit, but I hate even typing that because I try SO HARD to be on time. Maybe it’s due to my lack of navigational skills driving and constant wrong turns or my desire to do five million tasks in 5 minutes and obviously never getting it done, but somehow, the clock always revels the unfortunate news that I’m late. I can usually get to work right on the dot and not one second too soon, but any casual appointments just don’t happen right when they’re supposed to.

I’m the girl you tell to be there 5 minutes before you are planning on hanging out so that I’ll actually be there around when we say we will be. Oh goodness! I don’t mean to be rude or inconsiderate or too busy! Thank you, Lord, for forgiving friends and a patient husband.

 

Being late causes rushing that I also despise.

Rushing makes me blow past people.

Rushing causes stress.

Rushing decreases my work’s quality.

Rushing makes me frustrated.

Rushing is dumb.

 

Last week, I pulled one long and wiry grey hair out of the side of my head. WHAT THE HECK?! Hello little hair follicles, are the organic veggies and magical sulfate free shampoo not enough to help you keep up your game? I’m trying here! Give me a few more years! Is this inevitable? Can I just make the hard-switch to total grey hair?

Being fully prepared, traveling to a destination without going exactly six miles per hour over the speed limit, and arriving with a few minutes to spare is just the BEST feeling. Maybe one day I’ll figure it out. When teleportation and time travel is a thing. For now, just give me my own time zone.

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Dirty Little Secrets: My Spot on the Couchhttp://agirlikeme.com/dirty-little-secrets-my-spot-on-the-couch/ http://agirlikeme.com/dirty-little-secrets-my-spot-on-the-couch/#comments Wed, 11 May 2016 14:00:57 +0000 http://agirlikeme.com/?p=2525 IMG_1806

“Once upon a time, you had it all beautifully sorted out. Then you didn’t.”
– Sarah Bessey, Out of Sorts

I never thought I’d be the one sitting on that big couch.

I never thought I’d be rattling off my doubts and insecurities to a stranger with a notepad and a degree…I mean, that’s what I have friends for, right?

My problems aren’t big enough to “need help”…not that kind, anyway.

I believed every stigma attached to the idea of counseling. I had myself pretty well convinced it’s great for other people – people with serious issues, people who have faced the worst traumas or are in the midst of things like addictions, self-harm, or family turmoil – but “it’s just not for me.” I don’t fall under any of the appropriate categories that deem counseling necessary.

But then life got overwhelming. Confusing. Messy. And I found myself wondering, what if life itself is a good enough reason to give it a shot?

 

Writing out my story on the blog launched me into a season of extreme self-awareness. By publicly airing out some of my dirtiest laundry, I felt like my imperfections had been amplified. Not only was I fully exposed to readers, family and friends, but I couldn’t hide from my own mess anymore.

On top of that, from the day I moved to Nashville ten months ago, nothing – and I mean absolutely nothing – has looked the way I thought it would. I arrived with plans. Goals. Dreams. Passion. Ambition. Confidence. I expected my life to take off. Nashville was where all the pieces would really start falling into place for me.

I should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.

Instead of living the dream, I’m working a mundane retail job that I can’t stand. It was supposed to be temporary until I could get settled here. Then I would pursue my passions. But I quickly realized I actually have no idea what I want to do with my life. So I’ve just stayed put. Waiting for a door to open (ANY door at this point). I feel stuck. Without purpose. A dreamer without a dream.

 

It took me a while, but it finally hit me – who says my day-to-day struggles aren’t “big enough” for counseling? We’re all fighting some kind of battle. And just because my battle doesn’t look like yours doesn’t mean it’s any easier for me. At the end of the day, we all just want to be heard and seen and have someone say that the things we’re feeling are valid.

And I’m certainly no exception.

So I did it. The secret’s out. I started going to counseling. And I have never felt more vulnerable, alive, uncomfortable or free.

I’ve been going for almost two months now. It only took three sessions for the casual “get-to-know-you” stuff to end and for the real digging to begin. I left that day feeling angry and exposed. But after one short hour, I had connected so many dots between my past and who I am now, and I walked away understanding myself and my life better than I could have imagined.

All it took was one. hour. to shed light on so much of where I’ve been and where I am. It was exhausting and painful, but dang…I left wanting more.

I’ve learned how beneficial counseling is, in the big issues AND the small, and my struggles ARE worth talking about and seeking help navigating through.

Counseling isn’t something to be ashamed of. And believe me, I’m still learning that. I wrote, deleted and rewrote this post a dozen times because, while I know counseling is good and normal, I still wrestle with what other people are going to think. I feel the need to over-explain myself, to convince all who read that I’m not that messed up.

But you know what? The truth is I’m in counseling because I’m broken. It’s that simple. My life is a mess, nothing makes sense, my heart feels like it’s been run over by a freight train a few times, my whole world is like a snow globe that someone has turned upside down and just keeps shaking relentlessly…and sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe.

But once a week when I plop down in my spot on that big couch, I find a moment to take a big, deep breath again. I look my notepad-ready stranger in the eye and I admit my need for guidance and grace. And as long as I keep finding exactly that, I’ll keep going. Because this is where I’m finally learning what it means to be set free.

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Dirty Little Secrets: My Miss-Stachehttp://agirlikeme.com/dirty-little-secrets-my-miss-stache/ http://agirlikeme.com/dirty-little-secrets-my-miss-stache/#comments Wed, 04 May 2016 14:00:22 +0000 http://agirlikeme.com/?p=2516 12705318_10156424363970304_9205985523637882016_n

 

I was ten the first time I tried to shave my face. I had FINALLY been allowed to shave my legs after many months of pleading and a very convincing letter writing campaign to my mom and dad. I’m not kidding, in another life, I could have been a very successful politician.

After experiencing the joys of silky smooth legs I became addicted to removing any form of hair from my body that I could. Legs, check. Armpits, check. Arms, check. I wanted babies butt smooth skin and dangit, I was gonna get it.

One very foolish night while my parents were out and my irresponsible older brother was brooding in his bedroom, I took to ridding myself of the last remains of hair from my body. I grabbed my lady razor and my brother’s shaving cream and took to my face like crazy woman.

Blood.

Tears.

More blood.

More tears.

Shaving my face was a bad idea.

The trauma from that night kept me from removing hair from my face for a long time, but vanity, that little she-devil, got the best of me and I found myself once again staring down the mirror picking out every little dark scraggly hair that landed on my face.

I began using Nair, wax, and then landed on bleaching my upper lip. Every few weeks you could find me sitting on my couch, a nice little white mustache, working hard to not make it known that those Italian/German roots run real deep. Funny the things we girls do to create a sense of feeling beautiful. Am I right?

A friend recently turned me on to a new trend of face shaving, but this one didn’t involve shaving cream or a bic razor. Praise the Lord. This method was definitely less toxic than all that bleach on my face and a whole heck of a lot easier. I’ve been using it for about three months now and I am IN LOVE. Like, me and this little razor are in a serious relationship. All the heart eye emojis.

Listen, wanting to feel beautiful is not wrong. We all have that thing about our looks that drives us nuts. You might have that demon pimple that shows up every month right in the middle of your face. Maybe it’s a funny shaped toe or the fact that you have one boob bigger than the other (raising my hand on this one) or no boobs at all (also raising my hand on this one). However annoying the physical quirks might be, the amazing thing is that they are YOUR quirks. They are the markings of a creative God who has intentionally crafted within us a unique beauty that is ours and ours alone.

Maybe I’ll never look like Beyonce or TSwift, but you know what? They’ll never look like me either. They’ll never have my scar above my right eye reminding me of an accident that should have taken my life but God saw fit to save me. They won’t have the stretch marks on my stomach that remind me of the two precious lives I was gifted to carry inside of me.  And they’ll never have those horrific black hairs above my lip as an homage to a family legacy rich in culture and a love for Jesus. Nope, those are just for me.

Maybe one day I’ll stop shaving my face and rock my miss-stache. Embrace my weird fully and live out in the open as the hairy woman I was meant to be. But today, I will hold my razor high, and with each stroke to my face thank the good Lord that He loved me enough to make me special…rogue hairs and all.

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Gotta Secret, Gonna Keep Ithttp://agirlikeme.com/gotta-secret-gonna-keep-it/ http://agirlikeme.com/gotta-secret-gonna-keep-it/#comments Fri, 29 Apr 2016 14:00:14 +0000 http://agirlikeme.com/?p=2511 lindsay_lohan_shhh____wallpaper_by_lionarea86-d4n926p

 

When I was seven I accidentally pooped in my neighbors pool and tried to blame it on their dog.

In eighth grade I used to pretend I had my period because I was too afraid to admit to the other girls in my class that I hadn’t gotten it yet.

One time in college I snuck into an abandon construction zone so I could make out with my boyfriend and not get caught by our strict Bible college.

I once sent a hate letter to a guys pastor telling him what a liar and bad youth intern he was because I was mad that said guy stole money from me when we were dating. (I totally had a woman scorned moment)

I chipped part of my front tooth from trying to open a nail polish bottle with my mouth.

Secrets. We all have em. As much as I’d like to think of myself as a pretty open book, I still know that there are many things I choose to keep locked away. God forbid if anyone knew because then I would totally be uncovered for the awkward, vindictive, hot mess of a woman that I am. So I keep those nuggets tucked inside, believing that they are best served when never shared.

Secrets have taught me one simple truth in life: The more you have, the less alive you feel. 

Recently I’ve begun to taste life on the other side. A place where secrets go to die and I can fully be me. Where I feel all the feels and breath a bit more deeply than I did before. Let me tell you, this place is awesome. There’s no more hiding, no more shame- just love and hope and grace…and fun.

For the next two months we’re asking you to journey with us to the other side. To live in the land of telling our secrets and experiencing the grace that comes from it. We’ll be sharing some of ours- the embarrassing and the scary- and we’ll be asking you to join us in sharing some secrets of your own. Everybody has a dirty little secret somewhere. I’m just tired of keeping mine.

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Courage, Dear Hearthttp://agirlikeme.com/courage-dear-heart/ http://agirlikeme.com/courage-dear-heart/#comments Wed, 27 Apr 2016 13:00:07 +0000 http://agirlikeme.com/?p=2494 IMG_7271

“Whatever we learn to do, we learn by actually doing it. By doing just acts, we come to be just. By doing self-controlled acts, we come to be self-controlled, and by doing brave acts, we come to be brave.” — Aristotle

I never would have thought of myself as someone who is brave. More accurately, someone who possesses great courage. Sure I’ve done cliff diving or ridden that questionable roller coaster- but that was always accompanied with a heavy dose of fear and the prevailing thought of “What the he– am I doing?” So yeah, big fat wuss over here.

Did you know that the word courage is actually a heart word? Quick school lesson: (just stick with me here people) but the word courage comes from the Latin word which means heart. In its whole, courage actually means: to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart.

And isn’t that what we’re trying to do here? Tell our stories: the hopes, fears and everything in between? To gather our courage and become women who aren’t afraid to be real? Women who know that life is better together out in the open and not in the hidden spaces? So I guess you could say we all  have a lot more courage than we think we do.

When I left the blog last year I had no intention of coming back. My time was done and I had made peace with handing your precious hearts over to a new group of women who I knew would treasure you as much as I did. Something I learned last year was that love and care  sometimes can look a lot like letting go.

Over the past several weeks, Allison and I have been having a lot of hard conversations. Better yet, a lot of courageous conversations. We talked about heart and vision and unity and passion and calling. I asked hard questions and Allison gave hard answers. And together, we made a really hard, yet really courageous decision. Allison is leaving AGLM and I am stepping back in.

After serving as leader of this blog it became clear to Allison just how much she loves ministering to young women like yourselves. However, she also realized that the kind of girl and way she wants to reach that girl doesn’t quite fit the vision of AGLM. So, she is taking the bold move to step away from AGLM to better focus on the place in ministry where her heart’s passion truly lies. She’s writing a book, blogging on her own site and counseling/mentoring  women in her community. She’s bravely stepping into serving in the place her heart feels led, and you know what? We couldn’t be more thrilled.

Taking the reins of this blog back over wasn’t exciting for me, let’s be honest. I worked dang hard last year to let it go. To surrender it. What was going to happen if I came back? Would the passion still be there? Would I even have the energy to do it again? Would you guys still want to hear from me or had this thirty-something year old become irrelevant?

I can’t say I have the answers to these questions, but I can say that I’m anxious to find them out and the only way I can do that is by fearlessly jumping back in. So I jumped.

If courage is the telling of who we are with our whole hearts, I wonder what stories you and I have yet to share? Fears that live only in the silent tears we use to cry ourselves to sleep. Hopes and dreams that are only spoken in the hidden pages of journals and desperate prayers.

I wonder what would happen, if together, we all grabbed onto that courage and hand in hand faced the untouched parts of our stories with unguarded grace and guts. I don’t know the answer to that question either, but I’m ready to find out.

** If you’d like to continue to follow Allison on her journey, you can find her on her Instagram or her Blog.**

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