I noticed a brown sack in my room, one that usually sits and today called to me. This thin copy-store bag has writings from some of the most heart-wrenching days of my life: right as I noticed my commitment to marriage crumbling.
These were the words of a woman torn within; the pull of 29 church-teaching years added to the inner yearnings of a free life.
Pages of poems, the beginning of a novel, reflections on what it means to bare oneself to God and others. Sexual longings.
“This man’s on my mind.
Yet, it’s not really him.
It’s something in me
that needs crucified.
Or, let out?
Which is it, Lord?
I am so restless.
Wandering Wendy.”
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Then, there is the writing of baring oneself and how humbling that can be.
“Bared, our bodies are a sacred offering. Even what’s within. Clothed, I can hide myself. “Fat” versus “thin” illuminates how comfortable I am in showing you me.”
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I share this with you as a glimpse of what life was like for me as a churched person. One who now very much contemplates the “purpose” of these years of teachings. The woman who was coming out, finally questioning, speaking.
These writings give insight to finding authentic me.
Carl Jung said, “The first half of life is devoted to forming a healthy ego, the second half is going inward and letting go of it.”
My ego’s internal thoughts were no longer aligning with the persona I was presenting so many years to the world; that of meek man-follower. The woman who had no opinion — or mind — of her own. Nor did she “have capacity” since “a woman’s place is in the home.”
That’s great, if that aligns with your heart and goals. It did not, for me.
Repressing one’s true self long enough eventually leads to a resident rift.
Some things are meant to crack and be left torn open so that new birth may begin.
