You See Me

You saw me when I was invisible, new and awkward and shy. When the full force of the teen years came crashing down on me, opening my eyes to the subtle, vicious world of girls with their silent competitions, their quiet jabs, and their outward smiles with inward put-downs and pride. When I was the outsider who was too quiet, too reserved, too different to fit in and match their airy confidence and effortless grace. When they plunged their energy into makeup and boys, and I lost myself in daydreams and books. You were whispering to my heart then, but I wasn’t listening. You saw me but I didn’t see You, because I was too busy studying the way they dressed, the way they acted, the way they looked—and then looking at myself and seeing that I did not compare.

You knew me when I knew everything (nothing), when I strove to prove myself to a world that seemed to pre-judge me every day of my life. When I proudly focused on the intellect and determination You had given me, and chose to use them to make myself seen and heard. When I soaked up praise from friends and family and professors and employers and coworkers like it was all that mattered, and when I worked and overworked myself just to taste it again. I told myself that I knew who I was and what I wanted and what You wanted, and if I only worked hard enough and accomplished enough, I would continue to be liked and loved and respected and admired. I would be accepted, even by myself. I was someone I could be proud of; I could conquer my insecurities by masking them with good grades, awards, and success.

You were with me when I was angry and when I was hurting, sometimes angry with You, sometimes at others. When I carried the weight of my pain and others’ pain on my shoulders like it was my burden to manage, like I was strong enough to hold it up on my own, like I could touch and heal others’ hearts with my own sheer strength of love and will. You waited for me when I stormed to my room to cry and ask You why You would let my grandmother be diagnosed with breast cancer so advanced it had spread into other areas of her body. You were there when I was scared, uncertain. You whispered soft words to answer my shouts and remind me that You were holding her hand and mine and that we didn’t have to be afraid. You stood next to me when I visited my mom in the hospital and nearly broke down to see her so sick and frail-looking, as if it was some strange reminder that I was now an adult and the mother who had cared for me all those years now needed me to care for her. I wanted to cry when I brushed her hair because she was too weak. You stayed by my side when I was abandoned by various “friends,” when my friend turned her back on You, when hurtful words and actions began to stack up in my heart and break it, to pile up in my mind and define me. When college guys only noticed me for my body or for what I could offer them, when my personality wasn’t enough because it was unnoticed, unappreciated, or forgotten—when my heart was played with, torn, crumpled up and left behind. You walked with me when I dragged my depressed brother around, fiercely telling myself that I would carry his pain with him, that I wouldn’t leave his side. You said, “Let go,” and forced us to spend time apart, and then met him with glorious healing. You gave me a chance to face my own sorrow, sitting with me in my car when I finally crumpled down in sobs that racked my body and almost made me sick. You said You had everything under control. Not me, not me.

You had a firm grip on me when I lost myself. When all-nighters and long days of work and classes and interning and homework and socializing and an unknown sickness all piled up and stole who I was. When I escaped to my car to take long drives because the stress and the uncontrollable emotions and the exhaustion drove me to be alone so I could think, so I could cry. You were with me when it seemed like all I did was find places to hide and cry alone. When I was lonely. When I escaped to a bathroom stall to hide my tears, when I bottled up the pain because I was ashamed of it and didn’t want my parents to worry. When I snapped at my friends in fits of anger, when I felt like I couldn’t function without extra sleep, when my mother told me something was wrong and I denied it. When I was diagnosed and told I’d be on a pill all my life, when I finally, tiredly accepted that something was wrong, and opened myself up to feel the resulting depression for what it was. You sat with me on my bed as I curled up and refused to face the world. You knew that I’d been sick all along, that my sickness ran deeper than vitamin deficiencies or thyroid conditions.

And You were there when I let the fear take control, when I once again submitted to the need to impress others, when I let go of my dreams and who I was and tried to make myself someone else. You were there when I tried to sleep away my day because I hurt too much to face it. You were there when I couldn’t eat because my heart was making me sick. You were there when I ran into dead ends, watched my dreams crack and smash and fall through my hands. You were there when I couldn’t see You anymore, couldn’t hear You. You were there when I didn’t know who I was and didn’t know who You were. You were there when I was sure no one else would accept me because I didn’t have my accomplishments anymore, because I had been abandoned before and every expectation and thought screamed that I had failed and wasn’t good enough anymore. You stayed with me when I blamed You; You loved me and You held on.

You’ve been here all along and even now I get distracted. Sometimes I focus on my sicknesses with despair and wonder how they can ever be healed. How can You see me when I spend so much time making You invisible? How are you still the One who sees me, who loves me, who defines me, who accepts me, who comforts me, who finds me, who heals me, who saves me? Your grace has carried me this far and takes my breath away when I see now, as I look back, how You have worked. You have always been here, always whispering, always holding on, even when I nearly let go. You are my confidence. You make me loved and good enough. You are my grace. Though my words are insufficient, they are for You, my feeble offering of praise. Help me to see You, just as You have seen me all my life.