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10 random perks of being married
Hi, I’m Luchae and I love being married. Yes, this may be a well known fact but I sensed the need to lead the conversation with it because I feel like I complain about my beautiful, wonderful, amazing Hubstopher a bit too much on this here blog. Granted, his heightened sense of humor let’s me get away with saying just about anything (except Liverpool… we don’t diss Liverpool). But still. I felt it my obligation and duty to let you all know that I do, in fact, love my husband and that we are, in fact, happily married (soccer nights included).
I mean, marriage is a trip, you guys. The elation of finding your “one” mixed with the deflation of having to deal with someone else’s irks and quirks till death you do part is kind of bittersweet in the best way. But if I could choose between not being married to him and having to pick up his socks (you know, from the staircase, under the bed and hidden away behind my couch cushions) for eternity, I would probably choose this man and his stinky socks till death us do part.
Granted, there are the occasional disagreements (and irks and quirks) to deal with but the perks are actually quite perky. I mean, the perks totally make up for it. I don’t know what your marriage perks are… but mine are quite random. Sure, it includes all the mandatory “loves me, loves his kids, doesn’t shoot stray cats with his pellet gun” stuff. But there are a bunch of other random reasons why I love being married to the guy. Things like:
1. I don’t have to ask for directions
I mean, my husband knows what’s up (cough) and probably never has to ask for directions too. Right? Husband’s always know which way to go. But mine is a techno fundi and probably has a gazillion GPS apps on hand, just in case the rare occasion arises where he needs to ask for directions.2. I don’t change light bulbs
Look, I’m no damsel in distress, but I totally enjoy the fact that Hubstopher can do those arb home repairs like, you know, changing the light bulb or fixing the wonky door handle. In fact, I’ve totally sat in darkness waiting for him to come home to change said light bulb. The fact that I can do it myself is not the point here, okay?3. He knows whats up with the car
I don’t do car things. I mean, sure, women are capable of knowing car things. It’s good to know car things. But my extensive knowledge of car things does not give me the power to overthrow my husband as the “Car Things Gatekeeper.” I mean, he checks the oil and changes the tyre and, just being real, he even drives us places most of the time even though I have a very real driver’s license.4. Spiders
‘Nuff said.5. He can be a donkey
Guys, my Hubstopher is the parent who would go down on his hands and knees, pretending to be a donkey for my kids. He gives the best piggy back rides and plays wrestling with the big boys and is the only one who would allow them to use him as a trampoline. And I say thank you for that.
6. He knows kung fu
Okay, he doesn’t really know kung fu, but best believe when I hear a weird sound in the living room at 3 in the morning, I won’t be the one doing the investigating. Husbands do the “weird sound” investigating. It’s just like, the rule of life!7. I don’t have to do physical labor
Again, this does not speak to my lack of ability but rather to my Hubstopher’s abundance thereof. Need a heavy box lifted? Can’t open that pickle jar? Does the dirt need to be taken out? Do not fret or fear, Hubstopher is near!8. He holds my hand in public places
I don’t know, there is just a tangible safety of sorts, when you’re ambling through a crowded area and you’re able to walk a few steps behind your person while holding his hand. I have nothing more to say on the matter because I feel like you guys know what I’m talking about, right?9. He talks to people
I mean, sure I can also talk to people, but when it comes to the mechanic and the petrol attendant and the person who fumigated the house and the DSTV installer, chances are Hubstopher would be the one who would do all the talking.10. He loves me
For some weird, overly bizarre reason, this guy finds me the most attractive when I’m donning my oldest comfy clothes, with my hair in some sort of a messy bun (if “messy” was “chaotic”). He loves me in my natural state… you know, the person that is Luchae when noone is looking. And that right there is the biggest perk of being married to him.Can you relate with any of these? What are some of your weirdest and most favorite perks of being married to your husband?
Disclaimer: This post was not meant to be sexist, painting women as the weaker sex. Women can do all things and girl power and rah rah rah, but I sure do love that I have a Hubstopher around to do some of the heavy lifting for me!
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The house with many rooms
When I was in my early 20’s, my granny (my mom’s mom), had a “death bed” dream about me. She was sick, in hospital, and during one of our more quiet, melancholy visits, she whispered to me that she needed to tell me about a dream she had the night before. I know it sounds dramatic, but the dream was actually really beautiful and at the time, I was just so honored that out of all the many grandchildren, she would have a dream about little old me, during such a pivotal time in her life.
In this dream, she saw me living in a house with many rooms. And each room was filled with beds – lined up in a row “like a hospital or hotel” she said. She urged me to take note of this dream and the knowing in her eyes spoke words that she could not express. She passed away a few days thereafter.
At the time, I wasn’t very aware about how prophetic and telling detailed dreams could be. I didn’t know the story of Joseph (in the Bible) and other people like him, who received messages from God through dreams. And even now, I can’t prove to you that God spoke to my granny, on her death bed, showing her things that He was trying to tell me.
But, strangely, I keep having similar dreams. Even on days when my granny’s dream is the furthest thing from my mind.
Dreams of my house with many rooms. Dreams of me visiting a house with many rooms. And, more than that, dreams of all the beds… one in every nook and cranny… of each room. What really brought it to my attention was when other people started having similar dreams about me.
Now some would think that this means that I might own a hotel or Bed and Breakfast one day. You know, something along those lines. Something that makes sense. But, in my latter years (love how I’m calling my late thirties my latter years… the drama, yo) I’ve now come to think of it as something else.
For starters, ever since we’ve been married (it’s been five years, you guys, so long, so hard, so burdensome. Jokes.) we’ve probably had a border living with us, for every one of those five years. Mind you, I think the longest stay has been about six months and we never really demanded them to pay part of the rental or anything like that (although, duh, they would offer to pay for certain amenities, because life, and we expect you to help out around the house atleast). Anyways, now that I come to think about it, each year, we’ve shared our space (and offered up a bed) to someone who needed it.
This was not planned at all. In fact, every single house guest “moved in” on a short term basis and ended up staying for a few months. And I’m not saying that I’m, you know, the Martha Stewart of hosts, with freshly pressed towels, home cooked breakfasts and mints on their pillows. I’m actually quite the opposite. We have schedules and commitments and children (many children), so looking after a whole other adult is not up there on my list of things to do.And more than that, I’m not one to share my space. I’m an introverted extrovert (hey, I’m making that a thing, okay!) and as much as I enjoy people, I also enjoy being able to retract into my personal space, like a hobbit, shutting myself off from the world.
Having someone else in your space makes this kinda hard.
But thinking about all of this (literally, I was just thinking about this) it makes me wonder: Could this be the “house with many rooms” that my granny, and countless others, saw in their dreams? Could it be that the “house with many rooms” refers to our heart space, more than a physical space?
It just reminded me about comfort zones. I love my comfort zones… my “single life” privacy, peace and quiet definitely was a comfort zone. But, was I really thriving? Are you really living your best life, when you play it safe? And am I really doing well, when all I want to do, is to surround myself with the “easy”?
Each time we said yes to a house guest I was way out of my comfort zone. I mean, the idea of helping someone thrilled me. The idea of sharing space annoyed me eventually but deep down I knew that it was something that I had to say yes to.
I often wonder if that was God, nudging me in the right direction. He uses these “out of my comfort zone” things to equip us, build us and train us up for our next big adventure. Maybe God wanted me to learn how to have an open heart, without being concerned about how much of myself I’m giving. Maybe he wanted me to let people in – especially when I don’t want to. Maybe he wanted me to expand the corners of my heart, so that it could fit more people in.
In a funny turn of events, I now live in a crazy house, full of kids. And we would eventually like to add more children to our growing brood. Out of my comfort zone? Heck yes! I often crave the peace and silence that living alone brings. I probably won’t get that back for a very long time. But I’m okay with that now. I love my children and I can’t imagine living in peace and silence, if it would mean being without them.
Maybe this is my “house with many rooms”. And maybe God has been stretching me, in preparation for it, all along.
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The dangers of being too nice
So it’s the start of a new year, yet again. I love how it always brings with it introspection and promise. This time around, I sit and reflect on the past year and, friends, I realised that I spent most of it, regrettably, trying to be a “nice person”.
Yes, I know what the word “regrettably” means. It means that I feel deep remorse about the fact that I was “nice”, last year. Well, it’s the truth. I wish I could take back my niceness. There, I said it. Do you sometimes feel that way too?
Real talk: I’m super good at acting happy and being all chipper, even when I’m feeling really bad. It’s not real life, you guys. It’s a mask. I’ve come to realize that my “being nice” can be pretty superficial. And if I was superficially nice for a whole 12 months, then that means that I spent most of the year trying to, basically, water a bundle of poop and hope that it would grow flowers. (Poop flowers?) And then beat myself up at the end of the year, when my (poop) garden refused to bloom.
When you’re almost 40 (okay, granted, I’m a few years away, but humor me in my old age), you kinda find yourself developing a low tolerance for (internal and external) rubbish. And the start of this year has awakened a new resolve in me. A resolve to stop walking around with the concept of “but I’m a nice person” when I come across said rubbish.
Because the truth is this: some situations call for you to not be nice. Some situations need to be dealt with sternly and, dare I say it, abruptly. Some situations might not even deserve your attention! But your “niceness” becomes an excuse, letting you believe that it’s okay to be mistreated because you’re nice and you can take it. And then, you find yourself unwillingly giving those demons airtime in your head, all because you’re too nice to say NO!
As a “nice person” I often “felt bad” about making other people feel bad, and so I would avoid addressing issues that would make them uncomfortable. I avoided calling out shade, or letting someone know that I’m aware of their stinky behavior (remember, I still wrote about one such incident here) because I believed that I was SUCH a nice person (insert eye roll) and I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.I mean, I’m not saying that empathy is a weakness, you guys. But this is such a silly notion. Because, truthfully, I put on my “nice girl” hat to protect MYSELF, not someone else, and then I allow myself to believe that I’m doing the world a favor when honestly, I’m just avoiding confrontation.
I’ve learnt that healthy confrontation is a good thing. Healthy confrontation is powerful. And if I really value the relationship, I wouldn’t mind telling someone when I feel bad about something. Because, chances are, walking around wearing my “Miss Nice Girl” hat all the time, will eventually cost me a relationship or an opportunity or mental and emotional health (Que: Drake – In my feelings).
I mean, you can be as nice as you want, Martha, but at the end of the day, it will catch up with you and you will have to ,eventually, deal with it.
And how do we deal with it? Well, we deal with it by confronting the issue, talking it out, forgiving and moving on. My point is that you can kinda do all of that way back in the beginning already, instead of waiting for the poop to build up. (I say poop a lot in this post, don’t I lol)
So that’s my (kinda) resolution for the next season. No more nice-nice. And a lot more transparency and honesty. Anyone care to join me?
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Is being mean a thing now a days?
So the other day I found myself in a stinky situation, with a stinky person, who was acting – yep, you guessed it – pretty stinky. I mean, it wasn’t even as if I deserved the stank. I’m a very diplomatic person and (if you watched my Instastories, you would know) I prefer to not go all Shaneequa on people, when I feel that they’ve wronged me. I don’t do playground cat fights. It’s not my jam. Simply because I get that people are people. I always try to look at the situation with the bigger picture in mind… you know, stuff like: what is the other person going through right now, which factors could be influencing their decisions, am I overreacting, can they prove this in a court of law. You know, that sort of thing. (Kidding about the court of law… kinda).
Anyways, so here I sit, in all my “ke Dezemba” glory (duh, no pants, with an electric fan on full blast in my face) staring at my phone as I continue to get one stinky message after the other. And this after I had, so diplomatically, tried to be kind and understanding and, you know, the light and all of that.
And then I felt it. It was an overwhelming sensation, bubbling from deep down in the pit of my belly. A feeling that I could not control or contain. I tried so hard to ignore it but… wait for it… wait for it….. bleeeeuuuuughghghghghg …. WORD VOMIT. All over my good intentions and diplomacy.
Nice Luchae was straight up mad and rude and uncool and I wanted to say ALL THE WORDS in the world!!! And so I did, you guys.
The result? Well, not as great as I expected. Because, for starters, the recipient of my word attack isn’t all “kumbaya be the light” as I am, and so this person responded with an even worse attack of word vomit. But more than that, I was just bummed that I allowed the crap situation to get the better of me. I mean, I’m not this person. I’m not the type of girl who would lose her cool. Because my spreadsheet brain tells me that losing my ish won’t solve the situation. Staying in control will. My spreadsheet brain reminds me about peace over war, and to love the unlovely and to turn the other cheek. My spreadsheet brain asks me what would Jesus do. My spreadsheet brain… was absent on this day.
Anyways, my point is that I deeply regretted my vent. Because, my friends, there are ways to get your message across and it doesn’t involve calling people names.
Have you guys ever experienced this instant regret after you basically chooned someone their whole fortune? I mean, sure there is the temporary gratification… but do you feel bad afterwards? I always feel bad. Always. And here’s the shocker though… not everyone does (feel bad after they’ve vented all over someone’s day).
It got me thinking: is being mean a thing now? Is it something we celebrate now? We seem to love the Fiona Coins and Gordon Ramsey’s of this world.
I’ve heard people say that venting is their thing. “Oh, I will tell her exactly what I think of her”… I’m sure you’ve heard this before… you know the type of people I’m referring to? I never get them. Who wants to be the person who responds to conflict with a swear word. What does that even mean when you’re deep into your 30’s, and you have kids? What does that even mean, when you’re a professional human being? What does that even mean when you say you love people? How will your harsh words and rants solve the problem, I ask with tears in my navy blue eyes?!
Where’s the room for compassion? When do we make room for grace? How do we show love and kindness? And how on earth can we be celebrating this on our social media (ag don’t look at me like that Patricia) and then we attempt to teach something else to our kids?!
Also, if you have something to say to someone, surely you can do it in a kind/stern way WITHOUT an audience? (That last part is crucial, yo). Surely you can do it without having the need to brag about it to your friend? I don’t know, I’m just sharing ideas here. Let me know if I sound like I’m insane. Hoping I’m not. Because that would mean that the world has turned into one big ol meany pants. And that would suck. (I know. I just said “meany pants”.)
Hit me up in the comments section below. On a scale of 1 to Adolf Hitler, how mean are you?
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How to react when someone laughs at you
So the other day, I was hanging around, minding my own business when I noticed someone making fun out of me behind my back. You guys, it shocked me so much that I had no words. And this is coming from someone who talks in her sleep. It shocked me because, firstly, hello we completed our schooling many, many years ago. What playground is this and who on earth decided we’re going to be 12 again? Secondly, why behind my back? Why not to my face? And lastly, the thing that they were gossiping about is actually such a heart sore topic for me right now; I could not even believe that someone would tease me about it.
Okay, so for those of you who have actually seen me in real life (yes, people, I’m not a robot, I actually do exist in reality), you’ll notice that I walk with a limp. The limp has always been slight and unnoticeable, but over the past few years it has become a lot more prominent. The reason why I limp is because my one leg is shorter than the other. This is due to the fact that my positioning, while I was in my momma’s womb, wasn’t normal at all. My one leg was bent under the other, in utero. This then caused the left leg to not grow at the same rate as the right leg.
Now, guys, let me tell ya, I’ve lived a pretty normal life up until this point. I feel like laughing as I’m typing this, because seriously this long leg/short leg situation did not affect my childhood at all. Like, it was a non-issue.
And then, a few years ago, I started getting a pain in my left hip. The hip pain I could deal with. But it was soon preceded by these mind numbing headaches that I swear was birthed out of the pit of hell. These throbbing headaches are so intense that it makes me nauseous and causes blurry vision. When I’m having an episode, the only way I get relief is by lying down on a flat surface (try explaining that to a suspicious husband who thinks I’m trying to pawn the kids off on him all the time) or by resting my head against something (which is not ideal in an office setting or when you’re on a stage, if you know what I mean.)
One day, after a particularly bad migraine, my chiropractor informed me that the many years of having one leg shorter than the other has had an affect on my spine. My spine is now bent (basically leaning to one side) which is not normal. This is the reason why I have permanent tension in my back and neck and, yep, it explains the mind numbing headaches.The solution? A splint in my shoe. This would be fine, except that over the past few years, the difference in length between my two legs have grown from like, 1 cm to about 4 cm. So the gap is considerably big right now. The splint would be very noticeable and probably very uncomfortable. I would also only be able to wear certain types of shoes etc.
Okay so why am I telling you all of this? I mean, besides for the fact that oversharing is kinda what I do around here. Well, the other day I caught someone making fun out of my limp, you guys. It was so ugly… they just laughed and laughed and mimicked their little minds away and I just sat there shocked, pretending not to see. Now, don’t get me wrong, I know how to stand up for myself. The comfortable Luchae would be like, “Uhhh, are you trying to mimic me, coz you’re doing a pretty terrible job, here let me show you how to do it.” But the uncomfortable, shocked, hurt me, just sat and looked, you guys. Like a child. On the playground. Being bullied. I felt like I was being bullied.
And then it dawned on me. This person actually has no idea what they are talking about. And this isn’t me being vague – they literally have not asked me about the limp at all!
If they had asked, they would know that the headaches (due to the short leg/limp) is the reason why I go quiet sometimes. It’s the reason why I don’t always participate in physical activities. It’s the reason why I don’t wear high heels often and can’t stand for long periods of time.
But they did not ask. And so they were misinformed. Humor me as I use the word “misinformed”. I have to, you see. Because no one can be that hurtful on purpose, right?It would mean that they also laugh at little kids who have down syndrome and people in wheel chairs and those who have an eye condition or a speech impediment. I just HAVE to believe that this is not the case… that these people are not really that mean/ignorant/easily amused. They probably just need a little bit of knowledge and information to help them understand my situation. Right?
Be that as it may, going through this experience reminded me that their reaction to my pain is not a reflection of ME, it’s a reflection of, well, who they are. So there’s that. Take it as you want. But more than anything, it reminded me just how ignorant I am when I mock someone else for their pain, without fully understanding their story.
My Hubstopher told me to call them out on it. But I didn’t want to. I mean, I am not a victim, and I wasn’t about to give something this ugly a pedestal. But now, in hindsight, I wonder if I should have. So here’s where you come in, friends. Please share your opinions and thoughts below, I would love to hear it.
Have you ever felt personally victimized? Can you relate? What would you have done in my situation?
Disclaimer: I do believe that God can heal my leg and I am fully expectant for a miracle.
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The girl I once knew
I once met a drunk girl, in a random, crowded night club bathroom. She was beautiful. And drunk. Did I say that yet? We both were. We hit it off like only girls can when they are intoxicated, swearing to be “best friends for life” and declaring “girl power” and “viva tequila” and all other sorts of nonsense that makes sense when you are inebriated. The following morning, I found out that the girl had been in a car accident, en route home from the club, and had lost her life.
My brief encounter with her left an indelible mark on my life. I mean, I had no idea who this girl was. As sentimental as I am, I did not think that a strange drunk girl, in a random, crowded night club bathroom, would effect me the way she did. To be honest, I knew nothing else about her, besides for the fact that she was beautiful and, clearly, friendly.
I did not know if she had any children or if she even wanted to have kids. I had no idea what line of work she was in, or if she was one of the many unemployed young people of this country, or if she was a student. Heck, I didn’t even know her age!I didn’t care to ask her about her family history, or the type of man she wanted to marry or if she even wants to get married. We didn’t talk about her favorite fashion designers or series or whether she eats as much carbs as I do.
She was just a stranger – a beautiful lady in a random, crowded night club bathroom – who I instantly clicked with because we both recognized the woman inside of each other. That night, I learnt the art of being exactly who I am meant to be, whether people like it or not.
The girl I once knew – the old me – would have been okay with, you know, watering myself down to suite other people’s needs. I mean, who wants to stand out like a sore thumb? Who wants to be the person that everyone is gawking at? Not me. I had too many self-confidence issues, anyways. I wanted to blend in as much as possible.But a chance meeting, with a stranger, in a random, crowded night club bathroom, opened my eyes and showed me just how short our moment on this earth is. I mean, when you witness a beautiful life here today, gone tomorrow you realize the value of time. And I don’t have the TIME to be caught up in negative feelings of inadequacy and unforgiveness. I don’t have the TIME to be anything or anyone other than who I am called to be! And I don’t have the TIME to do anything other than what I’ve been called to do. Tomorrow is not promised, what are you doing with today?
So this Woman’s Month, I’d like to encourage you ladies to be okay with standing out, if it means you are being true to yourself. Be okay with going against the grain of your family’s history and tradition, if it means you’re being who God called you to be. And be okay with MOVING ON, when you need to. Your past and your failures do not determine your worth, your purpose or your future. Find out what God has called you to do, and pursue that wholeheartedly.
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These pics were taken by my very talented blogger friend Yolandi Barnard of Styles by Yolandi, as part of her Woman’s Month campaign. Landi is giving away a prize to the value of R2000, yo! To enter, simply head on over to her blog and pair up these ladies with their descriptions. Good luck! -
His ex is not psycho
If you’re a female and you’ve had your fair share of relationship drama, chances are you’ve been labelled “psycho” or “psychotic” once or twice in your life.
No doubt by a fuming ex-boyfriend who is desperately seeking bravado and/or redemption in the eyes of his easily entertained group of friends and/or his easily influenced new love interest.
I mean, he needs to let them know that he is better off without you. And the new love interest needs to know that she is, duh, a gazillion times better than you are. And, more importantly, the man needs to feel like “the man”. I get it. (Not really)
But why she got to be psycho, bruh?
And hey, new girlfriend, do you honestly believe that the irrevocable breakdown of their relationship was all due to his ex turning “Gone Girl” on him? The truth is this, ladies, his ex is not psycho.
Heartbroken, probably. Trying to heal, most likely. Still getting over the breakdown of their relationship, definitely. But psycho? I can’t say I agree.
“Why the monologue, Luchae?!” I hear you cry out in confusion and amusement. Well, allow me to explain: The other night I had a convo with a very troubled young lady who had recently been through a break up. I mean, the girl was totally cut up. But she was especially hurt that her ex referred to her as psycho. I mean, I can vouch for this girl. She is smart, beautiful, compassionate and has all her ducks in a row. On a scale of one to Joffrey Baratheon, she’s probably a -8 on the psycho barometer. I mean, she’s totally a Stark, if we’re going to talk GOT.
And yet she was called psycho by a seething ex who thought that the girl had no right to message him a week after the break up because she was hurting. He did not want her to talk to his friends. And he did not understand why she was still emotionally attached to certain things that they had shared when they were together.
Did I mention that they had been broken up for less than a month after a very lengthy relationship?
So this girl – my friend, Lady Stark – was meant to, you know, strip herself of all emotion and sentimentality the minute he decided that he was over the relationship. Lady Stark had to immediately – IMMEDIATELY – be devoid of all feelings for him regardless of the emotional investment she had poured into the relationship.
If you had to ask me (which you didn’t but here I am, still giving you my opinion), HE was acting a tad bit psychotic. HE was the psycho. I mean, come on, we are human beings and we all process differently. Maybe you need a week to get over it, but bruh, I need six months. Does that make me psychotic? No. It makes me human. You go on ahead and be the Robocop of the feelings world. But allow me to keep it real, stay true to myself and more importantly HEAL the way I need to.
Anyways, my point (I do have one, somewhere in my handbag, sorry I really need to clean this thing out) is this: Ladies, if your new boo calls his ex psycho, please ask him to stop. She does not deserve it. And neither do you. You don’t need him to insult her, in order to lift you up. And hey, even if she does some questionable things due to hosting a broken heart (don’t look at me like that, you know we’ve all been there), be gracious at all times. Be kind. Be strong enough to look past her temporary moment of weakness.
Don’t be the woman that allows a man to break another woman down! Especially when it’s uncalled for and unnecessary. We’ve given men the power to speak things over us for far too long! Well, I say: NO MORE!
At the end of the day, at some level or other, we’re all somebody’s ex… somebody’s “one that got away”… somebody’s “biggest mistake of my life”. But more than that, ladies, we’re all sisters.
Flawed, maybe. But psycho, definitely not.
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Hurt people hurt people
I remember feeling really small and insignificant in grade six. I was awkward and skinny and I actually liked doing my school work and hanging out with my baby sister. I wasn’t cool or popular. I didn’t do cool or popular things. I was reminded of my uncoolness often, by a mean girl who would pass comments about my gangly legs and oversized hair accessories (thanks mom). The mean girl was cool, so everyone laughed at her jokes. I laughed too. Leeanne didn’t laugh though. **Leeanne was the only other girl in our class who was a little more awkward and skinny than I was. She also did her schoolwork quietly and stayed out of everyone’s way. And so, because I was being bullied and laughed at, I ended up bullying Leeanne.
My bullying of Leeanne lasted all of one day (coz my mama taught me better than that) but in that one day, I was so mean to Leeanne that she actually cried. And when she cried I smirked at her and said “cry baby!” Disgusting, I know. Why am I telling you this? Well, because I was pathetic. But more than letting you in on my patheticness, I wanted to tell you guys about the time where I was so hurt that I hurt another person.
I’ve often heard the saying “hurt people hurt people” but only grasped the notion when I was in my twenties, nursing a broken heart given to me by a boyfriend who had commitment issues because his dad had abandoned him. It then dawned on me: sometimes people don’t realise that they are duplicating the very behavior pattern that may have shaped (or ruined) their lives. Maybe we are the product of our life experiences. Maybe some of us are still learning to master the art of taking the hurt and turning it into good.
We often view another persons’s perceived mean streak/gossiping/back biting as a character flaw. “What is her problem?!” But in actual fact, what you are seeing is not their truth… they’re keeping their truth buried deep down underneath a pile of defense mechanisms that are hard to bypass. Instead, you are shown something else… a coping mechanism probably picked up a long time before you even came along. We are all working through our own set of issues, friends. You, me, the neighbor who yells at your kids, the co-worker who has a problem with everyone… we’re all going through some ish!
This realization has helped me to extend grace to people. I mean, I’m not saying it’s easy guys. It’s not. We don’t get it right all the time. We are human beings and we have a lot of feelings, man! My “humanism” sometimes gets the better of me and I throw the stink eye to the guy whose trolley keeps bashing into mine, at the store. But remembering that people are just people (most of them hurting and fighting their own battles), helps me to show kindness towards Cynthia down the hall (who clearly hates my blog). And yes, I know that Gladys at the gym laughs at my hair behind my back. That’s okay too. I’ll still be nice. Even though she thinks my niceness is pretentious.
Why? Because hurt people hurt people. So that means loving on people will undo the hurt, right? Or something like that. I guess what I’m trying to say is that adding more hurt to the equation won’t solve the problem.
**Leeanne’s name was changed to protect her identity, but also, I can’t remember the girls name and surname! I’m hoping to connect with her, one day, to apologize.
Photo by dylan nolte on Unsplash
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How to deal with someone who doesn’t like you
We’ve all been there. We know what it feels like when someone thinks we suck. And, unless you have the emotional aptness of a spoon, it kinda stings sometimes. But how do you do it, friends? How do you handle the sting of rejection? Most times I’m just over here wondering how someone could have overlooked my sheer awesomeness (and obvious humble heart). The truth is that we’re all different. And hey, that’s okay. If God wanted us all to be the same, the world would be a very boring place. But if you are wondering how to deal with someone who doesn’t like you, maybe these tips could help:
Talk to the man in the mirror
No, not Michael Jackson. What I mean is: start with YOU. The truth is that you’re never really “finished” or “evolved” enough to be done with growing. Every opportunity is a moment to be better! Look, let’s keep it real, if Sally doesn’t like you just because, the chances are the just because is actually a very real reason. Maybe you unknowingly gave her a funny look when she was having a bad day. Or maybe (keeping it realer than real now) something you’ve done or said was insensitive or offensive. Come on Jack, we are not perfect. We all have our moments (surprise-surprise not everyone will laugh at your Jacob Zuma jokes). Chat with someone you trust and ask their opinion. And, this is a biggie, be willing to CHANGE. You can’t control how Sally feels, but you CAN control yourself.Smile and wave
No, seriously, smile. Remember that their opinion is NOT your problem. In fact, if you did not know their opinion of you, how would you respond to them? Offense is GIVEN. It’s your choice whether you want to TAKE IT. I’m not saying make them your new BFF – you don’t have to prove your worth. But being courteous and kind is for free, yo! (“I’m sorry that you feel that way about me, but Imma love you anyways!”) Look, I know, if someone doesn’t like you it’s easy to want to initiate payback mode and not like them right back! The mantra goes: hurt people hurt people. But, I ask you with tears in my navy blue eyes: what’s the point? Revenge is a dish best not served at all. If it’s not adding value to your life (or theirs) rather avoid that negative situation, smile and wave girl, smile and wave.
Be the light
Kindness always wins. Yes, I know, I sound like a Disney movie. But it’s the truth, yo! As I’ve said before, we are all different. And thank God for that! Sometimes the best way to deal with a tense relationship is to simply accept your differences. You don’t have to try to win them over. And you most certainly don’t have the time to play that “clap back” game to see who can hurt who the most. How lame. Instead, accept that not everyone will think you’re the best thing since sliced bread (hmmm carbs) and move on. You are called to be a light! What does that mean? Well, it means that you should always respond and react in love and kindness (even when people don’t like you). Does it mean that you are a walkover? No Sir. I’m not saying be gullible or weak. But I am saying: Don’t let other people’s opinions of you determine who you are and how you respond. -
Even when it hurts
Recently faced with overwhelming loss, as friends of ours grieve the death of their beautiful baby boy, Conor, I found myself thinking: “God, where are you?!” Where is He when tragedy hits? Where is He when a family is forever shattered and lives are indelibly changed? And what am I meant to do in the moments when I don’t know how to function because the enormity of the situation feels bigger than my faith? Am I meant to cling to hope even when it hurts?
I struggled with all of these questions on the inside, while trying to be hopeful and expectant for a miracle on the outside. Conor’s mommy was pregnant with him and, a few days before her due date, found out that his little heart had stopped beating. She was devastated. We all were. I mean, how can I tell my friends that God is faithful, if He allowed this happen to them? You were meant to be faithful God… You’re in control. How could you let this happen to them… to their little boy? And then someone said something that hit me square on the jugular: God is not “in control”.
Well, He’s not “in control” as we understand the term “in control”. He IS sovereign, that is correct. But WE have freedom of choice and we can decide to either live by faith – in hope – or, in utter hopelessness. The truth is that tragedy happens… heartache and loss are a part of life. It’s not all His doing. It’s not God’s fault. Conor’s death is not God’s fault.
The message that carried my friends, through this ordeal is that they believe that God was with them through it all. The amount of strength and bravery I’ve witnessed from these two, is so inspiring! They explained: “He was sitting there with us, crying with us, because He hates seeing His children go through the pain that is in this world. Nobody is immune to pain or bad things but that we have a God that is right there with us in the darkest hour and He sits with us regardless of who we are, what we did. But because He loves us unconditionally. He always has and He always will.”
I was reminded me of a scripture that I had read in Matthew a few weeks ago. It says “blessed are you when you are at the end of your rope… with less of you, there is more of God and His rule.”
With tears in my eyes, I read this scripture over and over and eventually felt total peace. The glorious rainbow at the end of the storm is being able to find comfort, peace and healing in His arms. We somehow find ourselves clinging to Him, closer than ever before. Where is He when it hurts? Well, He’s hanging around waiting for us to reach out to Him… waiting to be invited into your heart so that He can fix it.
So this morning, as we try to make sense of the tragedy, and as my friends yearn for their baby boy and our broken hearts ache for their loss, I choose to trust God, even when it hurts. I choose to believe in His promises, even when it hurts. I choose to thank him for Conor’s beautiful life, even when it hurts. And I choose to believe that He makes all things work out for our good… even when it hurts.
