Who Am I

I have heard the story of a particular form of Japanese art in various capacities. I’ve heard it described on podcasts, in sermons, and at women’s events. The Japanese will take broken pottery and put it back together. They don’t just glue it. The method is called Kintsugi. They mend the broken pieces back together with lacquer mixed with gold, silver, or platinum. The end result is beautiful. Most of the sermons and stories I have heard using Kintsugi relate piecing the broken art back together about our own brokenness: that we, too, can be made whole and beautiful after brokenness.

It wasn’t until recently that I saw this analogy differently when I heard someone talk about her healing. She talked about the Japanese art practice, but said something I can’t shake. She said she doesn’t need to pick up all the broken pieces as she puts herself back together. She can leave some on the floor.

Whoa.

That was a moment for me.

We don’t have to pick up all our broken pieces in order to put ourselves back together. We can leave some on the floor.

I went to college to become an elementary school teacher. I loved kids. I was good at leading, teaching, and guiding them. I also needed to find a way to provide for myself outside of being a waitress. I initially went to college to become a psychologist. I dropped that major fast because I realized the financial toll and burden I would have and didn’t have to ability to do that. So, I jumped into something I knew I could do, do well, and do easily. I became a teacher. I was good at it. I even went back and got my Master’s in Education. If I am being honest, however, I never dreamed of becoming a teacher. I cannot look back on my childhood and see anything that made me think I would be a teacher one day. I didn’t play school. I didn’t look at the teachers I had and wish I could be them. Nothing in my past would lead you to believe becoming a teacher would be my future.

I left the profession to stay home with our boys after five years. I ebbed and flowed trying to find my identity again. It’s hard to give up who you thought you were even when you are stepping into something wonderful like getting to raise your kids. I volunteered. I worked at the boys’ preschool for a bit (it was easy to fall back on what I knew). It wasn’t until I wrote a blog post that I felt the spark.

It wasn’t until I wrote a blog post that I felt the spark.

themessymingling.com

Years passed and I continued to write. I tried to become a published author, but it never transpired. I would get the, “We love your idea” emails and calls and then silence. I interviewed a few times at our church thinking that would fill the void, but didn’t get those jobs, either. I kept writing, wishing, dreaming, hoping, and raising boys. I floundered and broke picking up my pieces and putting myself back together only to break time and again. I had thoughts that I was doing it wrong, not doing enough, not moving in the right direction, yada, yada, yada. I finally took a step back and took a break after about five years of trying.

This past year, I decided to say, “Screw it” and just be me. I chose myself and who I am over who everyone else was telling me to be. I decided to do things my way instead of theirs. I found peace in this season. I also felt free. Free to be me. I still longed, however, to do the things that lit my soul on fire. I just didn’t know how to get there. It wasn’t until I spoke some things out loud that I finally found myself. I finally realized the four things I should be doing.

1. I have always LOVED being outside. When I think back on my childhood and growing up, I was always outside. I climbed trees and fences, made tree forts, camped outside, explored. As I got older, I found solace in the outdoors. It is no wonder I love being in my garden, with our chickens, and feel energized after a long walk. I love gardening and hobby farming. I see us adding more animals and expanding the garden. So, I will garden and love my chicken ladies and hopefully add some donkeys and take y'all along for the ride. 

2. As long as I can remember, I was changing my room. Whether I was moving furniture or trying to convince my mom to let me hang something on the wall, I was constantly reinventing my room space. My vivid memories from childhood are of a family friend asking me why I positioned my bed that way, sponge painting a border around the top of the walls in my room, and on and on. It was never-ending. As an adult, our house had two major renovations due to water damage and then we decided to renovate two rooms on our own. I remember feeling on the feels through the water damage renovations, but now, looking back, I can see that they awakened a longing in me that I didn't know I had: I love renovation and home design. I will share my tips and tricks and what I've learned with you. I love learning from others and seeing their ideas and making them my own. I pray you feel the same here. 

3. I will always be a writer. Like the outdoors and design, I can remember writing in journal after journal. I would write stories, adventures, hopes, and dreams. My dad still talks about my first sentence: The cat is fat and that is that. I even have the actual paper I wrote it on (thanks mom). I have always been a writer. Putting my thoughts to paper is a release for me, for my soul. I will always write even if I am never published an no one reads blogs anymore. I will keep sharing my words because I know they help others. And, if anything, they help me. 

4. The last thing I know I should be doing is contributing to our family financially. This last one has never left me and something I have struggled with since I left teaching 14 years ago. This is also the thing that I don't know how to do, but I know will one day happen. It is a longing deep within not because of value or worth, but because I have taken care of myself financially in some form or fashion since I was young (I bought my own Nintendo in 4th grade with babysitting money. It was $99.99.) 

We all have a story. We are all created to be and to do things in our own unique way. We ebb and flow changing and growing (hopefully) with each passing year. Many of us have been shattered into a bunch of pieces more than once. What if, when we put ourselves back together next time we don’t pick up all the pieces? What would happen if you left the pieces that no longer served you on the floor and you only decided to pick up the ones that truly made you whole again? I am learning to do the same right alongside you. I have learned to let go of many pieces that no longer serve me: identities and expectations that don’t fit who I am anymore. Even though it may seem that if I don’t pick up every broken piece I won’t be entirely fixed, I have never felt more healed and complete.

Love you.

Mean it.

Meg