The only direction I know to go with humility is to be open about my own journey. I was tough as nails. I took great pride in my physical strength. My strength showed itself best in high school. Each summer, I would take a week with my church group and build a house in Tijuana, Mexico. We would build an 11’x22’ house complete with a concrete floor, stucco walls, and shingle-rolled roof. The best part for me, it was all done without the use of electricity or a cement mixer. I was not overly athletic, but I could lift a ninety pound concrete mix bag with no assistance (I would laugh because it often took two of the boys to carry a bag). I physically worked hard – when others would take breaks I was still going. Others noticed my ability and I felt affirmed.
I also took a lot of pride in my emotional strength, or at least that it how I perceived it at the time. I was stoic, and I never cried. Not only did I lack tears, but I felt nothing. At funerals, graduations, and sad movies, others would talk about their sadness with tears streaking their faces. I was a rock – unmoved and solid. Little did I know then, this was not so much emotional strength, but rather emotional cut off. I did not know what I was feeling. I could not distinguish sad, mad, or glad. They were all the same to me. A giant concrete dam disconnected my head from my heart.
I took pride in my ability to keep others distracted from my emotional inabilities. I was a good kid who worked hard. Why would anyone suspect I was broken? I kept others at bay from knowing my greatest fear – I did not know how to allow my heart to love another or be loved in return. No one ever probed or questioned until I met Karen.
I spent my 21st summer as an intern living in Tijuana, Mexico, teaching other high school students how to build the 11’x22’ houses. Karen was in charge of us interns. Karen saw through me. She saw the dam and disconnection. In kindness, she hugged me and whispered, “I will be your hero if you need one.” We stayed in touch and I began to let her know about the dam and the memories I wanted to keep buried. She was the first (though not the last) to suggest therapy. After months of resisting, it was time to humble myself and admit I needed help.
Pride covers our fears, insecurities, and vulnerabilities. We can be egotistic and proud, or we can have a reversed pride (“I am the scum of the earth; no one would like me.”) Both work to keep people away from our secrets – from those spots we will fight to remain covered.
Humility exposes our wounds and allows others to see and help tend to them. It does not mean wearing our emotions on our sleeves, for not everyone is safe enough to see our vulnerable places. When we allow a trusting other to see our wounds, they become a mirror for us. They reflect our feelings and our thoughts. They can validate our experience. By allowing another to see, we can stop wondering if we are crazy, damaged, or exaggerating; we can come to trust our thoughts and feelings.
It does not take courage to be proud. In fact, it is the coward’s way. The proud are always hiding, running, and looking over their shoulder. They live in the fear of their built up façade being broken. It takes great courage to take the path of humility. It takes strength to ask for help.
Next . . . “I” as in Involved.
I also took a lot of pride in my emotional strength, or at least that it how I perceived it at the time. I was stoic, and I never cried. Not only did I lack tears, but I felt nothing. At funerals, graduations, and sad movies, others would talk about their sadness with tears streaking their faces. I was a rock – unmoved and solid. Little did I know then, this was not so much emotional strength, but rather emotional cut off. I did not know what I was feeling. I could not distinguish sad, mad, or glad. They were all the same to me. A giant concrete dam disconnected my head from my heart.
I took pride in my ability to keep others distracted from my emotional inabilities. I was a good kid who worked hard. Why would anyone suspect I was broken? I kept others at bay from knowing my greatest fear – I did not know how to allow my heart to love another or be loved in return. No one ever probed or questioned until I met Karen.
I spent my 21st summer as an intern living in Tijuana, Mexico, teaching other high school students how to build the 11’x22’ houses. Karen was in charge of us interns. Karen saw through me. She saw the dam and disconnection. In kindness, she hugged me and whispered, “I will be your hero if you need one.” We stayed in touch and I began to let her know about the dam and the memories I wanted to keep buried. She was the first (though not the last) to suggest therapy. After months of resisting, it was time to humble myself and admit I needed help.
Pride covers our fears, insecurities, and vulnerabilities. We can be egotistic and proud, or we can have a reversed pride (“I am the scum of the earth; no one would like me.”) Both work to keep people away from our secrets – from those spots we will fight to remain covered.
Humility exposes our wounds and allows others to see and help tend to them. It does not mean wearing our emotions on our sleeves, for not everyone is safe enough to see our vulnerable places. When we allow a trusting other to see our wounds, they become a mirror for us. They reflect our feelings and our thoughts. They can validate our experience. By allowing another to see, we can stop wondering if we are crazy, damaged, or exaggerating; we can come to trust our thoughts and feelings.
It does not take courage to be proud. In fact, it is the coward’s way. The proud are always hiding, running, and looking over their shoulder. They live in the fear of their built up façade being broken. It takes great courage to take the path of humility. It takes strength to ask for help.
Next . . . “I” as in Involved.
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