Haley’s Story

For at least a month or so, I had been up to my neck in loneliness, insecurity, hopelessness, and hatred of who I was. I didn’t believe in myself, that I could handle the day I was going through or the days down the road or whatever life would throw at me next. Comparing myself to others devolved into an addiction: she was prettier, she was more thoughtful, she was more helpful, she was better. Everything fueled the belief that I was not good enough, and my heartbreak deepened with every waking moment.

On the afternoon of December 3rd, my school had a Quidditch match. This sounds like a ridiculous turn in the story, but I have a penchant for taking things way too seriously. I, Harry Potter nerd that I am, obviously joined the Quidditch club, which pretty much consisted of two athletic people and a bunch of other nerds, at its founding earlier that year. We played another school that afternoon, who pretty much brought their entire track team in Quidditch uniforms.

Needless to say, it didn’t go well. We lost… badly. Like, so badly I’m laughing as I write this, even though it’s the memory of one of the most painful evenings of my life. In the final match, I was Seeker, which basically involved a lot of running after someone dressed as a Golden Snitch. In front of everyone - fans (if you can believe it), parents, teachers, friends, both teams - I sprinted, got so out of breath, was obviously nowhere near as good as the other high school’s track star, and did not catch the Snitch. The catching of the Snitch actually took place in the stands where all the “fans” were sitting, so it was maximum exposure of my failure. The bottom line: I wasn’t good enough. Not at Quidditch, and evidently, not at life.

I don’t know why this particular humiliation was what cracked me, but it did. There are a few other very specific memories I have of this time - messing up the drums as the praise band played “Pompeii” by Bastille, driving to school and pretending I didn’t exist to numb myself to the pain - but I don’t know if I’ll ever remember feeling broken as much as I did on December 3rd.

I cried. I’m a crier, so this probably surprises absolutely no one, but I cried: at the school, on the way home as I ignored any words of encouragement from my dad and sister, and once I got home.

I sat with my back against my bedroom wall and sobbed, asking one single question: Why can’t I just give up?

(This is the part of the story where my throat closes up and my fingers start shaking, btdubs.)

Somehow, giving up - on life, on myself, on the future, on something better - was never an option. No matter how much I hated myself and my life, how inferior I felt to everyone around me, how lifeless each day seemed… I knew I couldn’t just give up. In the back of my mind, shoved into a small, dusty corner, Hope sat. I’m not usually a fan of random capitalization of important, meaningful words, because you get Sentences that Look like This, but this Hope demands it. Even when I wanted to give up, something inside me wouldn’t. It wouldn’t let me go, no matter how much the darkness tried to take me. I believe that everyone has that Hope inside of them, regardless of any factor, any flaw, any fault. Two years ago on December 3rd, it was the voice of Hope that told me I wasn’t done yet.

This past December 3rd, I celebrated a whole lot. I packed for Young Life camp that weekend. I danced in victory. I walked (and am still walking) in the light because the darkness did not overcome me.

Two years ago, I kept going. I held on tightly even though at times, I didn’t know what I was holding on to. It was Hope that grabbed me and propelled me and finally pushed me into the light of freedom. I learned my value. I learned to believe in myself. I learned that I have worth that isn’t based on my words, actions, shortcomings, or successes. I learned that I am loved and worthy of it. You are loved and worthy of it, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. I’m enough. You’re enough. Hope is my anchor. I refuse to stop seeking, exploring, or adventuring. There are still days when I wonder: am I back where I was before? Was it all for nothing? Days when the lies penetrate my mind, when insecurity keeps me quiet, when stress overwhelms me. But I push through those days and find resilience in Hope. I have found something better than constantly comparing myself to others and crying my eyes out at night. (Or something better found me.)

Two years later, I am (to quote Jamie Tworkowski) “a living, breathing, screaming invitation to believe better things.” If anyone is in the same spot as me on that December 3rd: Those better things are real. They’re there. They’re waiting.

Hold on. Hope. One day, you’ll look back on your own December 3rd and be so grateful you did.

I Struggle with Self Worth

I struggle with self worth.

I was in 4th grade the very first time I ever considered my worth; I was in 4th grade when I compared myself to someone else for the first time. 
Someone will read the word “compare” and think I’m judgmental, thinking that I puff myself up in the faults of others, but to that person I say:

Don’t worry, you get the better end of the stick. No matter who it is, the person I compare myself to will always be better, more interesting , funnier, smarter, more unique and intriguing. They’ll always be enough for someone and I’ll always be barely mediocre.

I wasn’t enough.

Just like I wasn't enough to be someone that a boy wanted to love purely and unconditionally, only physically. 
I wasn’t enough for my friends to stand by my side when it came down to my word against someone else’s.
And I wasn’t enough to make someone care about me long enough or passionately enough. I wasn’t enough to cause someone to not let me leave in tears late at night when it was pouring. I wasn’t enough to keep someone’s interest, to keep someone talking to me or coming around. I wasn’t enough to make the boy want to make ME his girlfriend, but he’d turn around and make HER his girlfriend.

I thought it was me; I was convinced that somehow, if I just tried hard enough, I could create a new personality for myself that I considered enough—somehow, I would be able to MAKE myself worth loving. 

And so I wrote. When I wrote, I could take the nitty, gritty parts of myself that I believed were lacking and make something admirable out of them; I could create the image that I had in my head of the ideal version of myself; I could create the girl that no one wanted to see brokenhearted, the girl that people didn’t understand and yet adored for that very reason, the girl who was enticing beyond belief, with the quick comebacks, the witty humor, the interesting thoughts and conversations; I could create the boy that was there for her, who hurt when she hurt, who looked at her like she might just be magic; I could create the friends who didn’t leave, the people who were there no matter the circumstances, loyal through and through. Because that’s the sort of personality I wanted, the sort of person I wanted to share life with, and the friends that I wish I had.

And in all of my feeble attempts, in all of my striving to be enough, I was missing out on the opportunity to enjoy being me; I was missing out on opportunities to grow as a human being because I was too busy trying to measure up to some image that I had created for myself and that was always just out of my reach no matter what I did. 

My error: trying to derive acceptance and my own worth from other people who were running on the treadmill next to me towards some goal that they believed would finally secure their own worth. 

I had to train myself to stop looking around at how wonderful everyone else was and to instead look ahead—rather, to look UP. In fact, I am still training myself to discover worth inside my own skin rather than through the actions and words of others, still just embracing the idea that:

I am enough.

-Written and Loved on by:  Jenna