approved.

I don't think it's a big secret that my biggest struggle has been to love myself completely. And not just the person I see in the mirror, but who that person is on the inside. I can vividly remember instances at even a young age feeling this huge weight upon me, at times it was unbearable and simply just THERE. Of course when you're 6 or 7 you don't know why you feel this, you don't know how to pinpoint this boiling emotion inside you, but it churns in your belly and courses through your brain and it's confusing and uncomfortable. As I grew I remember being able to identify what I was feeling like and giving them a name: Kelly was a disappointment, a failure, Kelly was someone who lacked stand up character and what not. I'll preface this by saying as far as kids went, I was pretty lovely. I did well in school, was kind to people, loving and spunky, so I'm not sure where I got the idea I was this awful person (for goodness sakes, my days were filled with piano lessons, basketball practices, books on books on books and homework!) but I constantly felt like I was never enough and I began hating myself. Not just the "hate" that we throw out there flippantly, but I truly hated myself and vehemently tried to change who I was, to no avail.

In retrospect, I think, from the beginning of time, I thrived on making others happy. As a preschool teacher I know that kids will do nice things just to hear you say the token words: "Wow! Thank you! You're great!" (and they will let you know how great they are if you don't catch them in the act, mind you.) I've also learned that we are all a bunch of adult sized 4 year olds in that regard, subconsciously floating around seeking the approval of those around us just to feel good about ourselves, our work and our general personhood. It's human nature to want the approval of those around us, especially those we love or work under; our parents, bosses, friends, boyfriends, teachers, husbands, children, etc. suddenly become those we desire to impress and receive approval from. I took it to a whole new level, I craved that approval constantly from everyone. It didn't extend to my small realm of people who were "important" to me, I wanted to please EVERYONE.

It was a perfect storm: my love language is words of affirmation (go figure!), I'm EXTREMELY empathetic, I can walk into a room, feel the vibe or the emotions and will in turn take those emotions on and try to process them as my own, I don't want to hurt or disappoint others and I'm human. Suddenly all these things were buzzing and fizzing inside me, colliding into one another and clomping around, this constant static of panicky urge to PLEASE ALL THE PEOPLE.

I was exhausted. I was angry. I was anxious. I was depressed. I began to withdraw. I journaled angst-y, angry, amplified teenage woes of how awful I was and how I could never make anyone like me. I would monitor EVERYONE and if I saw the slightest flicker of what I perceived or felt as disappointment or failure I collapsed into a puddle of tears and self hatred. Eventually I learned to reign it in, no one likes a weepy 16 year old (p.s. they called it "sensitive"), but I still hurt. I was heavy, lugging my weight of disapproval and lack of confidence everywhere I went. I put on the smiles and pulled out my jokes, but inside I was desperately pleading: "Please like me so that I can like myself."

At times, it was a dull roar. I would ignore it, paint over it, pretend it was "normal" or that it didn't exist altogether. At other times it would rear it's ugly head in a sudden obsession and desire to be wanted by all the wrong people. It was a toxic place and incredibly disheartening. I would think: "If only I could be a little bit better, this would all go away. If only this person would be happy with me, I'll be alright."

If you're reading this you're probably screaming: "GET IT TOGETHER!" But let me tell you, in the midst of a storm you can convince yourself that even the most blatantly unhealthy situations are "normal" or a "phase" or host of any other excuses to get you out of facing your fear head on. For me, that fear was that I would be unlikable.

A few months ago I was making my 35 minute commute to work, one in which I've devoted to time with God, I'll worship, pray, or wait quietly to hear from Him. This instance I was praying and asking (once again) for God to please allow me to accept myself and move past what others thought of me or were saying. I felt this gentle voice say: "What gives those words the power to define you?"

It was so soft. This gentle, loving nudge, yet it rocked my world. It was like every time my friends reminded me that my approval and identity was in Christ, that the gospel had changed me and that I was accepted as a daughter of Christ finally clicked.

A moment with God changed everything.

I remember audibly fumbling with my words, not because it was an "Ah ha!" moment but more of a: "Duh you idiot!" moment. At this point I was aware that the answer was simple: "Those words don't have power over me." But before I could defend myself, once again, God continued: "Your identity is in me. That messiness you feel, that you're not good enough, it's gone. It died on the cross. When I said: "It is finished!" I meant that you were finished with having to feel like you would never be approved. Your identity isn't in what they say about you, it's about what I say about you. I say that you're good enough. I say that you're forgiven. I say that I love you and I want you." At this point I was crying, not of shame (3 minutes prior that's why I would've cried), but because I felt this weight suddenly lifted, this freedom I had never felt before. As I was crying that gentle voice once again said, "So who's words do you want to give power to?"

That's the power of the gospel. That Jesus would carry my shame, my guilt, my sin, my desire to seek approval and in turn my feelings of failure, that He would feel that, embody it, take the punishment for it, carry the weight of it, die with it and take it to His grave. The same grave He was triumphant over. The same failure I feel, He was triumphant over.

That is what has power in my life.

Why would I give power to the words of those who are just as messy and hurting as me? Why would I give power to those who haven't triumphed death and sin? Why would I give power to the words of those who haven't accepted me, good, bad and ugly, with a perfect love?

I throw myself at the foot of the cross everyday, accepting the grace that says: "You are by nature messy and kind of awful, but I loved you enough to take that, bear it and crush it. You are free, you are a friend of mine, you are a child... You are accepted."

Those are the words I'll give power to. For they are the truest and purest words ever said.