Words
I’m really good with words. I mean really good. (or is it well? Doesn’t matter) <– see what I did there?
What I mean is, growing up, all I had were my words. At first, it was defense. I knew if my mom was going to hit me, if I could make her laugh, she wouldn’t. At school, I realized that, if I could make kids laugh, they’d like me. I quickly learned that, with my words I could diffuse any situation. Teacher’s mad? I’ll talk to her. Mom’s grounding me, and not letting me go out? I’ll talk to her, I’ll go out tonight.
It’s spilled over into my adult life. (As have 100,000 other things.) I can, when I want to, talk my way out of anything.
So, this is how I pray a lot of time. I reason with God. I say things like, “You know that bad thing I did, well, it was one time, and… I’m only human, but you know I love you, and you love me, so… we’re cool, right?”
Boom, like that, I try to relieve myself of all responsibility. God and I talked about it. That’s it. It’s done.
Well, it’s not. Maybe that’s where a lot of this anger is coming from. Maybe that’s where a lot of my low self-esteem is coming from. I think my ‘prayer life’ has been lacking, because of me. I think I am on to something. I think I’m scared of working on it. I’m scared to press the publish button. I’m scared to confront this. But I have to or I’ll be right back here in 6 months. (Or still here.)
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