Tag Archives: reminder

An Open letter to the Brokenhearted

I’m sorry. Those are words that you need to hear, but you may not have heard them yet. So, I am sorry that you are hurting.

You are hurt and confused.  You thought this relationship was the end of the games, the confusion and the hurt. You’ve thought, “Given the pain I’ve been through, there can’t be more.” Yet here you are again, alone with the pieces of your fragmented heart, wondering how it could happen again. After all of the time that you spent rebuilding and learning to trust again, how are you sitting in your room, crying over someone?

It will be your first inclination to close off that wonderful heart of yours. You are thinking, “That’s it. I’m not doing this again.  I don’t ever want to hurt like this ever again.” Please don’t hide that light from the world.  Not everyone will speak lies.  Not everyone will betray you.  Not everyone will hurt you in your weakest moments.  But everyone DOES see that glittering light that shines from your soul, and they are drawn to your love and joy. Don’t let him/her steal that from you on top of everything else.

You are asking yourself, “How will I ever trust anyone again? How will I ever trust myself again?” You will.  Not today, and probably not tomorrow; but you will. How do I know? Because that’s what makes you you.  Your resilient heart, your enduring optimism, and the light that you see in every other person. You have your own beautifully unique way of reaching others. Only you can love people the way that you do. Don’t let anyone put out your light.

Don’t run away from those wonderful friends and family in your life; those people who see your worth and never capitalize on your love.  They will endure with you, encourage you, and speak truth to you. (Even when you don’t want to hear the truth).  They will listen with love and care for you in the ways that you need.

Do listen to your feelings.  Do feel. Do process with your closest people. Do trust again, it will be worth it. The right person will never let you feel like this. The right person will never let you question your worth. The right person will see you, all of your darkness and scarring, and they will still choose you.  The right person will make you feel like you are the only person in the world that they could possibly love. The right person will be the one who makes you feel alive again.

For now, let that person be you.  Love You with all that you have.  You are worth loving.  Your heart is worth protecting.  Your mind is worth knowing.  Your soul is worth celebrating.

You will wake up one morning and the ache will be a memory; you will breathe deeply into your soul and celebrate the new adventures you are about to embark on. When that day comes, I hope I can join you on that journey.

 

love ehjae

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3 Things That are NEVER Funny

I consider myself to be a person with a hefty humour, and I like a good sarcastic joke. But something that I have been reflecting on as of late is the misogynistic jokes that have found their way into my relationships with guys, and I let them slide because I didn’t want to be “That girl.” You know that girl, the one who is a little too intense about women’s issues, the girl who takes every opportunity to share her opinions about women’s rights.. I could go on, but I think you get the picture.  But if I don’t take the time to speak these truths, then I am doing a discredit to the fiery passion for human dignity and empowerment that is written on my soul.

Here are three recurring jokes that I can pinpoint throughout different times in my life that are NEVER acceptable, EVER.

1.Violence

I have actually had guys jokingly threaten me when not happy with something I am doing or saying. “I will punch you in the face,” “I will kick you,” “I want to choke you right now.” I am not kidding. At the time, I would just jokingly return in kind, saying that I would hit them back or kick them in the balls. Now that I reflect back, I am horrified that I ever spent time with these people. It is NEVER funny to joke in this way. A guy who is genuinely concerned about your safety and cherishes you wouldn’t find this funny or acceptable in any situation.

2. Numbers

Believe it or not, I actually had a guy give me a score on my “Wife-Abilities.” There were categories such as Cooking, Appearance and Mothering… The list goes on. I kid you not. I know what you are thinking, “Where in the world do you find these guys, Ehjae?” You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I cannot express the damage that was done to my soul in this experience. While it is the most extreme case that I’ve experienced, sadly it is not the only one. I have heard guys describe women as numbers in different categories more times than I care to repeat. “Her face is a 4, but her cannons are a 10”
Women struggle with perfection and comparison on our own. We always feel like we fall short of the standard, and are gloriously reminded that this is the case with the barrage of media reminding us to stay fit, but not too fit; to be nice, but not too nice; to be successful, but not too successful; and to be the perfect mother/wife. If a guy ever, EVER removes your dignity by describing you OR ANYONE ELSE by a number, walk away. No, RUN away. It will never change, and you will forever feel like a prisoner trying to be freed from the prison of “Not Enough.”

3.“WOMAN”

Have you ever been called, “Woman” by someone? It’s always said in a mocking voice, “Woman, make me a sandwich; Woman, bring me a beer.”

 MY NAME IS EHJAE.

Calling me “Woman” tells me that this is all that you see. You see my breasts, and the opportunity for conquest between my legs. I can hear some of you protesting- that’s not the case. So what is the case? What is the pressing need for you to diminish our worth? The sake of a joke? I can tell you that no one is laughing. And further more, why would calling me “Woman” somehow grant you power, as if to say that a woman is weaker and must submit to your request?

The verdict is out, and the joke is on you, misogynistic men. Women are strong. We are courageous, and we are not going to be treated like this. “It was a joke.” is NOT a reasonable explanation to ever do any of the above. Having let people speak to me, and treat me in this way for much too long, I hope that it will take some of the beautiful women out there less than a quarter century to stop enabling these destructive language and patterns. It starts with us, ladies.  We must stop joking back, and start walking away.

Moment

Life is full of moments.

Moments that stand still

Moments that fly by, where you soar high

Moments when you can’t see and you can’t breathe

and you begin to wonder if you’ve ceased to be

       Anything

Worth loving

——-

NO

——–

We

need

to see

that this is not who we’re meant to be

That life is full of these moments

So that we know what it means to be free

I’m not sorry for what I’m about to say.

There’s a part of me inside that is wanting to curl up and hide somewhere instead of writing this post. But another part of me has been screaming loudly, boiling my blood, reminding me that words like these must be spoken, no matter the hour, no matter the potential loss. I’m shaking as I write this because I’m scared of how this could be taken.  But I’m writing it because I’m scared of a world where we don’t speak up.

Earlier, I was out with some friends at the bar. A young woman walked in wearing a beautiful sundress, walking in heels. Some of the people seated at my table made faces at each other, and when they saw me catch their gaze in disdain, the justification was this “She wanted us to look at her if she came the bar dressed like that.”

Shock.

Anger.

Hurt.

Disappointment.

Silence.

Deafening Silence. I couldn’t say a word.

So the only logical reason that she was dressed up was for your visual stimulation? Since when are women only allowed to wear what you’ve dictated as “suitable bar clothing” without “inviting” lewd eye gawking and stupid comments? And dressing nicely suddenly means she’s a slut, or asking for attention? We’ve definitely come a long way in our modern era.

1 in 4 women are victims of sexual assault or know someone who has been a victim.

Common statements made by the perpetrators?( http://project-unbreakable.org/)

“It wasn’t rape, you were being such a tease.”

“You know you want it”

Now some of you are thinking, “Whoa, it’s just a girl at the bar. It’s just some dudes admiring her from afar. This isn’t rape.”

You’re right. It’s not. But it also isn’t really admiring her, because what was said to me revealed a lot more than what they thought of her appearance.

What that statement is doing is perpetrating the mentality that women are inviting disrespect and degradation in how they act or how they dress.  In fact, a person’s inability to honour a human being as a human being and not as a piece of meat tells me that they aren’t much more than a piece of flesh themselves. Let me tell you something about rape. It’s dehumanizing. It leaves the victim feeling completely worthless. The biggest struggle? Self-blame. Shame. Guilt. Self-hatred. Where does this come from? hmm.. I wonder. Perhaps it is this idea that a violating action or a debasing comment is somehow NOT the violator or the speaker’s fault because it was somehow provoked.

Let me ask you this, is it OK for a human being to ever be degraded below their fundamental worth? Because when I listen to you tear apart a girl because “her face isn’t hot, but she’s got great cannons” it shocks me. Then it disappoints me. It used to silence me because I didn’t want to be labelled as that girl who is “too uptight” or “takes things too seriously.”

I’m done letting people talk about other human beings like that.

I’m done being silent.

I’m not going to apologize for taking human worth “too seriously.”

So I’m not sorry at all.

Dead leaves

Dead Leaves

I wrote this sometime in the fall, and didn’t post it then for some reason. However, it was a good reminder for me today in the midst of the bitter cold.

Dead leaves always remind me of my life.

I have learned that life is a series of cycles.

I’m sad because the trees that were once vibrant with colour and life have lost their covering and are now standing naked and vulnerable. I can relate to that. I think back to Spring in my life, times where I sat in the presence of God, soaking in His goodness and life was good.

Yet it doesn’t last,  crap happens, and all of a sudden the cold and dreary take over my heart and suddenly I find myself reflecting upon mere remembrances of the vibrance and beauty.

I don’t want to acknowledge it.  If I rake up the leaves, that means that snow is coming. Winter is hard. There is so much to persevere in winter. Cold, dark mornings. Struggling to get out of bed. Struggling into and out of winter clothing. Shovelling. I don’t hate winter, but I think we would all agree that waking up in the summer to a bright, shining sun and 20+ weather is less of a struggle.

I know that it has to be done. But I’m stubborn. I want to rake the leaves myself.  I’ve had several people knock on the door to ask if they could rake the leaves for me. No, I want to do it myself. I need to do it myself.

I know that if I can make it through the Winter, Spring will soon return and suddenly, I will not be naked and exposed, but stronger for having braved the cold, bitter elements

STUPID

I’ve cried after every single one of the tests I’ve written this year in school so far.

(Yes. I am a sensitive person. Perhaps overly sensitive.)

After every one of these exams, the greatest lie that I’ve had to battle is this one:

“I AM STUPID.”

Of course to which, all of my lovely friends (when I’ve expressed this struggle) have lovingly responded, “You’re not stupid.”  But of course, I don’t believe that. It’s because I’ve stubbornly chosen to dictate my worth through these numbers

What I’m realizing is that it comes down to this silly fact that in our society, we base our identities on numbers.

Weight

Calories

Facebook friends/likes

How much money we make

How many relationships we have or haven’t had

How much square footage in our houses

How old we are

How many countries we’ve visited

GRADES

There are so many other numbers that we use to dictate our worth.

WHY do we do that?!

I’ve chosen to believe that all there is to me is what you see,

what can be measured by a one or a three, but really- in reality

if my worth was completely based on something created,

then I am flawed like a Picasso

out of key like an old piano

swept

     aside

But what if my worth was based on a perfect love? A perfect creator?

Someone who sees me, who loves me, and adores me and tells me my purpose is for something greater?

What if I saw myself the way that He sees me?

Then the numbers would fall away

I would see the beauty and  the design of my brokenness,

masterpiece created by a Master Artist

I could hear that perfect pitch, my verse in harmony

  just a small piece of the Great Symphony

Swept

up

by the gust of great love,
a fierce wind that shatters the prison of numbers

I could be free, if I would only believe that He is the only number that matters. He’s the ONE who cares for me. He’s the ONE who created me.  He’s the ONE who died for me.

I am not stupid. I am not dumb. I am blessed to go to school, and to learn, but more than that: I am blessed to be known, loved and called worthy by a perfect Creator who loves with His perfect, unconditional love.

Renovations on a dungeon.

Down in the dumps.
Feeling blue.
Not quite myself.

One of my favourite characters puts it quite eloquently as being in the “depths of despair.” (Thanks Anne Shirley)

One of the things that has always frustrated me in my life are those moments when the darkness creeps in.

The joy that I so easily embraced suddenly becomes contaminated by that tar-like void that seems to contaminate and seep so quickly that suddenly I am suffocating in a quicksand pit of despair, loneliness and depression.

“Why?”  I always ask myself.  I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.  Yet, sometimes I do, but I don’t know know how to change my behaviour.  Instead, I allow the lies and shame to seep in further and isolate myself from people who love me, who can and want to pull me out of the pit.

A couple of dear friends have been challenging me by being transparent and sharing about their struggles.  How often do I admit out loud that I don’t know the answers, that I am struggling to even think about picking up my Bible, and *gasp*, sometimes I just don’t want to go to church. Yet at the back of my mind, that truthful voice is telling me that this has been where I discovered my joy, love, freedom, family, salvation, hope, truth, grace and forgiveness for even the darkest, most shameful, disgraceful moments in my life.

I’ve been challenged and humbled by my own words.  I’ve often said that we are weakest and most vulnerable when we are isolated from each other. We were made for community, to grow together, to love together and even to be weak together, which actually makes us stronger. Yet, in the past couple of weeks, a true hypocrite, I have been isolating myself and avoiding the people that I need the most.

More of my hypocrisy: It would be so easy for me to spend an hour looking and thinking up words of wisdom and thinking of spiritual ways to guide and help my fellow-downers through this journey. I would come up with an eloquent way to express how I had entered into and then defeated the darkness that I had supposedly now conquered.
I haven’t conquered it.  I won’t.  Not on my own. I’m not the one who will defeat it.  Scratch that.. I’m not the one who HAS defeated it.

This post is not about my great thoughts or revelations on the Bible. This is about my weaknesses and being transparent.

I am still struggling.

So once again, challenged and humbled, I am writing to expose the darkness that has been overwhelming me and to ask for help.  I can’t do it on my own.  I’ve been trying to do it that way for a long time.  But it’s so clear that that’s not the way to do it.

Yet, in the midst of this pit of despair, there has been a peep hole of piercing light.  It never fades, and the warmth that emanates from it is almost delightfully painful in comparison to the emotionless, cold, dark corner of the dungeon that I have chosen for myself.

God has never left my side, and I know that he is the reason for my hope and the peace that has never left my heart amidst all of the craziness that has happened in my entire life.

The beautiful thing is the simplicity of this truth and revelation that first broke through the wall around my heart( and it continues to do so every day) :

It is the moments like these, when we are shamed, naked, starving and covered in our own filth, that Jesus says, “Yes, I love you. I choose you.”

And that is how my God turns my dungeon into a palace.