What a Beautiful Mess

I may not be the prettiest or the thinnest.  I can’t, I can’t dance.  I’m not an artist or a writer.  I have no super powers.  But right or wrong, I can only be who I am.  I’ve struggled with that a lot in the last 5 years.  At 25 I realized I was becoming the worst parts of my parents.  Ok, I didn’t realize, it was pointed out to me, and not in the kindest of ways.  I did, however, know immediately it was something I was going to change.  I figure by 25 most people are already self defined.  I went from one extreme to another extreme.  I let someone else define me.  I tried to be exactly who I was told to be and not to venture too far from that comfort zone because it was easier.  I think for a long time I had myself convinced that this was the better person inside of me and I just needed help finding it.  It wasn’t until the Awaken Retreat that I realized I hadn’t really been me since I was about 20 years old.  That’s 10 years of an identity crisis that I didn’t even know I had.

                So here I sit at 30 just now figuring out who I am. Or trying to anyways.  I know I’m a good mom, sister, daughter and friend.  But none of those things are just me.  I have built my life around who I need to be for other people and never taken the time to figure out who I need to be for me.  And now its almost uncomfortable to think about.  Its like I’ve told myself that if I do something or take time for myself I am taking away from those people that are the most important in my life and I can’t bear the thought of that.  I’ve let those relationships and those people become the source of my happiness and I can’t keep allowing that.  My best friend asked me the other day if I depended on him for my happiness and I told him no.  But maybe what I should have said is not just you.  I’ve never really taken the time to just be happy being me instead of being me in the roles that I feel.

                I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately and dedicated time to figuring out who it is that I want to be.  I haven’t ultimately decided that yet but I think I’ve taken a lot of steps to justify for myself why its necessary.  And to understand why its not necessary to justify taking care of myself.  I can’t truly be the person I need to be for the people in my life if I’m not first taking care of me.  So… I’m a work in progress.  But I have ultimately decided that while I’m a mess, I sure am a beautiful mess.  But I also believe as I go through this process I will reduce the chaos more and more. Lets focus on the beautiful. 

i think its cool you do what you do and don't try to save me

For fifteen years I wanted a little brother.  I told my parents for every birthday and every Christmas that I wanted a little brother. His name was going to be Thomas Caleb Etzel, horrible name, long story but I waited so patiently for him.  My family went through a lot in those fifteen years.  There were medical issues and losses and tears and frustration.  One night right after one of thoses losses I was at church with my parents for a revival.  Now we went to one of those churches that revival, meant revival.  It wasn’t just an extra service every night for a week where you went and sat quietly to look like you were making the right choices in your life.  We went and we got loud and we sang and danced and fell on the ground and let everyone know that we were in fact sinners but that by God’s grace we were saved! This was one particularly long revival and I had fallen asleep in my dad’s lap in the first pew.  They woke me up about 10:15 that night because the pastor wanted to speak over my family.  He told us that we had recently experienced loss of a devastating nature but that God had plans for our family and that we would receive this back two fold according to God’s grace and will.

Four months before I turned sixteen my sister was born.  Eighteen months after that my baby sister was born.  It still amazes me to this day to remember that feeling sitting in that church and having no doubt that what this man was saying was true.  I can’t say I’ve always looked at those two little girls as blessings, and I never got my brother, but I would change them for the world. 

We couldn’t be more different.  I was always the smart one that had the emotions of my momma and the aggressiveness of my daddy.  I realized this at about age 25 and have spent the last five years trying to combat those very statements.  I already said most of what I felt like saying about myself in the first post.  I’m tall, I guess, decently proportioned, green eyes and new blond hair.  I refuse to go to work without makeup on and my hair done and I refuse to go to the grocery store with my make up on and my hair done.  I’m simple, although anyone you ask would say I’m rather high maintenance.  (Especially my daddy) I will fight tooth and nail when I know I’m right, but I’m learning to bow down graciously when I’m wrong.  Keep in mind if you become a “follower” or whatnot, I said I’m learning, as in this is a new development.  I’ve struggled a lot in my life with wondering if I have been the cause of every problem that has left any form of negativity in my life.  I blame myself for my parents getting married, therefore I blame myself for their divorce.  I have endured one failed marriage and one almost marriage that was a failure on an even larger scale.  I fear that I am never going to be successful at the one thing God created me to do.  I believe that I do not know how to love and therefore can not be fully loved.  Yeah, I know, depressing right? But I am applauding myself for being aware of these things and am always willing to find ways to change it.  Hence I started this blog.. But the real reason I go into so much detail is to be able to show you how different the three of us really are. 

Cheyenne is the one that Morgan and I refer to as the adopted one.  She’s short, dark hair, dark eyes, quiet and completely non confrontational.  Really if you sit down and think about it she’s the pretty one.  Chey is girly and always wants to have her hair done in the newest trend and follows all the current fashions.  She likes pink and shiny things.  She’s the girly one, that’s for sure.  Its kind of interesting that I have already come up with three different labels for her because the fourth one is the end all be all, the greatest thing that stands out making her different.  Cheyenne is the loved one.  Our entire family waited almost sixteen years for her to show up and we have been in awe of her ever since.  Every curl that popped up on that little head was loved by the world.  She was such an odd looking baby and an even stranger looking child(while she did grow up to be beautiful) and none of us ever noticed because we loved her more than we ever thought that we could love anything.  She was everyone’s angel.  My Chey Baby.  I think waited for her more than anyone.  I think I wished for her on every star and ever y 11:11 of my entire life.  I remember being there in the room when she was born and knowing that my heart was going to explode from the love I felt when I saw that tiny face, and I wasn’t the only one.  Cheyenne has never in her life doubted that she was loved or wanted.  I mean how could she when she’s being told on a daily or even hourly basis for almost sixteen years now that everyone waited for her and everyone prayed for her and everyone just couldn’t wait for her to be here.  And I don’t say any of this to be negative, I mean I’m a bigger Cheyenne fan than almost anyone on the planet, seriously.  I simply say that as much doubt I may have had in this area in my life she has had reassurance ten fold.  I hope she spends the rest of her life feeling this way. I hope she never ever has to feel like that love has left her.  She means the world to me and I think she knows that.

                I guess you can saw right after I turned sixteen I finally got my little brother, in the form of my baby sister.  This kid would play with bugs an climb trees and was willing to get far more dirty than Cheyenne or I could ever tolerate.  Morgan is more like me than I care to admit, but we are still completely different people.  You see, I was a good kid.. Morgan.. well.. They say that you pay for your raising with the behavior of your children, my parents must have thought they got out easy, until Morgan came along. Morgan is the sporty one.  She has never played a sport that she wasn’t good at.  She got all the coordination, most of the athletic ability and all the boobs.  I know that’s an odd thing to say of a fourteen year old child but I guess you could say I’m a little bitter about that one.  Morgan is also tall and blond with greenish eyes.  Morgan is also loud and aggressive, however Morgan has a complete understanding of the phrase reckless abandon. She feels everything with passion and dedication and you can definitely tell when she speaks. From the simplest of things to the deepest thoughts she handles them all with a fire that tends to get her into trouble.  Hence, this is where my parents pay for  their raising.  Morgan has always felt like she is in the shadow of the perfect child.  Morgan knows we love her and she knows that people care and that she is of the utmost importance. My Pudding Pie.  I know this is true because when she was little if someone asked her what her name was she said Morgan Faith Puddin, that shows that she knows how important she was and always will be to me, but she struggles with not feeling good enough, like she can’t live up to those of us who have come before her.  If only she could see at this age that she doesn’t only have our accomplishments to live up to but she also has our failures to learn from and our understanding to get her through the tough times.  Morgan is a boots and jeans kind of girl and you just can’t change this kids mind once she decides something. Right or wrong she will fight to the death. Morgan is so much like me that its scary.  I always tell her that she has the other half of my soul.  I don’t think I feel things like everyone else in the world. I don’t think most people can understand the thoughts that go through my mind, but Morgan does.  I worry for her that she will to through the life that I have, and that I can’t stop that from happening.   But I wouldn’t change a thing about her. 

                  The most beautiful thing about the three of us is that despite all our differences we are terrifyingly the same.  We need each other.  You’d never know if to hear us talk to each other.  We call each other names and fight and argue, like sisters do. But let someone else try and mess with one and you have all three to deal with.  And with the diversity we provide, we’re bound to stump anyone or anything that comes against us somehow.  I think that we really learned how much we truly mean to each other in the last 18 months.  My parents divorce wasn’t easy on any of us.  There were a lot of changes in life and in personalities but all in all the only thing that never changed was the bond we had with each other.  Over the course of this time we have become like one person with three separate components.  I’m not sure I could get through a single day without those girls.  We talk almost every day, we think of each other every day and undoubtedly we pray for each other every day.  It would be weird for anyone to think that with this far between us in age and this big of a difference in personality we would be as cohesive as we are.  The only love I have never doubted is the love of my sisters.  I have had to adjust to a lot of things lately but I have never once felt alone.  They may not always have the most life experience or the best insight, but they know me better than anyone in this world.  They understand me in ways that no one else ever will.  And for that I am eternally grateful.  So here’s the point of all of this.. Throughout it all we have never tried to save each other.. we’ve simply depended on each other to survive.  And I need to make sure they know that. 

the words of the prophets were written on the subway walls

I remember the first defining moment in my life.  I was in the 5^th grade.  I had sat there for weeks watching her across the lunch room. Sometimes she had a simple sandwich, just bread and cheese. Some days she had a 99 cent bag of chips from the gas station and most days she had nothing at all. I looked around my table.  Kayla, Megan, Katherine, Robin.  All with the most fashionable Lisa Frank lunchboxes filled with food that would mostly end up in the trash can.  I sat there and tried to figure out what made me better than her.  What made us more deserving of the things we had, more worthy of sitting at our table.  I realized somewhere in all of that thinking that I was more like her than I was like them.   So Friday, I sat at her table.  I didn’t even think Katherine would notice I was missing until I looked up and saw her staring at me with everyone else in tow behind her, Lisa Frank still in hand.  She told me that I could either get up and go back to my seat at the table where I belonged or I would never be welcome at that table again.  I spent every day for the next 3 years at lunch with Typhany.  I will always consider her the first true friend I ever had and I will never regret the decision I made that day.  I still speak to Typhany on a regular basis and when things happen in my life I know I can always count on her.  I have no idea where the rest of those girls are.  They remained the popular crowd all the way through high school.  Funny thing is, once you leave high school, none of that matters.  No one knows who the smart kids were, or who the popular kids were. No one knows the loners, the nerds or the band geeks.  We all work so hard to find out place in that hierarchy and when those four years are over all we have left to show are some badges on a letter jacket and the necessity to once again find out where we belong in the world.  I think I made a great first step that day. Even sitting here now thinking about it my heart swells with pride.  I wish I could saw I was proud of all of my choices.  That I had such clarity in my teen years, or even in my young adult years to make such a strong decision and have no doubt that it was the right one.  Truth be told, I’m not sure I ever made another good choice without first making the wrong one.  I’ve managed to disappoint my parents, my friends and myself in the last 30 years on a rather consistent basis.  But I would still say I turned out alright. Well enough to give advice that I may not always be willing to take on my own.  Well enough to have a clear mind in tragic moments, or at least the tragic moments of those around me.  Well enough to think that maybe someone wants to read what I have to say. That maybe it can turn someone else onto one of those defining moments they can be proud of.  Or in the very least, it can help me to focus on me, who I am and how I got here instead of where I’m going to go next.