Perspectives, part 2

This is a hard one for me. I am about to share publicly that I absolutely DO NOT HAVE IT ALL TOGETHER.

So let me tell you a story. Once upon a time (last week), I shared a beautiful narrative of an adventure I had while hiking, and how I recognized the importance of enjoying the journey we are on. That is all still true. But there is a second chapter to the story - one that is more painful and vulnerable to share.

So, a few days after I wrote Perpectives, I took the boys on a hike in Oak Mountain. It was Cole’s birthday week, and I wanted to see the autumn leaves during their peak. So off we went to the Peavine Falls trail. I had researched and knew the falls were accessible from a specific parking lot. As we drove, the views were absolutely spectacular! We took a ton of pictures and exclaimed that the drive alone was worth it.

Once we parked, we glanced at the trail map and took off. I had waterfall fever, and I knew this was going to be amazing. The early parts of the trail were easy, and the woods were an autumnal wonderland.

Soon though, the trail became more difficult, and I took a fall on some rocks.

I have a couple of autoimmune diseases that involve my joints. I had a stroke in 2016 that affected my visual field, which in turn affects my balance and depth perception. I deal with these things daily. But here is the thing: I am very stubborn and I hate admitting my weaknesses. So we kept going, despite the boys suggesting that we might should turn back. I desperately wanted to see that waterfall.

The trail got steeper and more difficult, but I was determined. Shaking from the adrenaline of the fall, and battling my joints and vision challenges, we climbed for another half hour.

Then, stepping over a rocky place, my foot got caught and I fell again. This time I was lucky I didn’t break my ankle.

We had to turn back, and the tears came as I cursed my body for its weaknesses. The hike back was long and painful; I didn’t make it to the waterfall; and I really wanted to just sit down and cry.

During that long walk back, I thought back to the post I had written.

My first inclination was to criticize myself - my physical limitations, my stubborn need to push myself to my breaking point, my refusal to back down, and the way I turn to shame when I fail. It is all a part of who I am.

But so is courage and resilience and hope.

I spent a lot of my life pretending to have to all together, only showing the world a made-up picture of myself and my life. I’ve been afraid that if people see my weaknesses and failures, I will be abandoned and unloved.

But the people I admire most are not perfect. They try and fail. They are honest about their struggles. And I admire them even more because they aren’t perfect. I can relate to not-perfect.

So here I am - bruised & battered, having to rest more than I want because I pushed myself too hard.

Here I am - risking vulnerability and being seen.

I don’t have it all together, and that’s ok. You can like me, or not.

I would rather risk rejection than offer you a fake perfection. I’d rather be seen and loved as I am.

And I know there are people who love me with all of my failures and weaknesses and quirks and aggravations. And that is enough. I am enough.

Oh, and as we were hobbling out of the Peavine Falls Trail, I saw this sign: