Why do I blog?

Hey, blog! What's up? I feel a pull on my heart to write another blog post sooner than later. So this is what I got...

Writing a blog isn't hard like it's not equations and rocket science complicated. But it isn't easy. Yes, I've added something else to my plate that takes up more time; it's another check box on my daily to-do list. It takes me away from my house and my hobbies. A blog commitment is also a predicament because I'm dedicating myself to something I do not know if I'll succeed.

Here's what I do know: I'm a recovering people pleaser. You may know what I'm talking about. You do things, even if you don't like them or have a desire for them, just because it makes someone else happy or gains their approval.

You may know what I'm talking about. You do things, even if you don't like them or have a desire for them, just because it makes someone else happy or gains their approval.

Yup, that's me. It started as a young child, much like other strongholds I (and we) have. Instead of finding and seeking out hobbies and activities that gave me pure satisfaction, I gravitated towards things and behaviors that would make my mom, teachers, and friends happy. That's a scary place to live when you're little, and you don't even know it. Please understand this point before proceeding; hands down, I had THE BEST mom! As a child, I thought my mother was perfect. But we as adults realize that's a lie. No one walking this earth right now is perfect. Everyone is far from perfection. You couldn't have told me that growing up, though.

Not too long ago, I realized and learned how this has come to be in my life. It is hard to uncover the cracks in your shattered world that were already there; you were just blind to it. Because this was hard to accept for myself, it will be hard to hear for some. I needed A LOT of therapy, education, and revelation from God to understand how these fibers are weaving together. I learned that (unbeknownst to me) witnessing and living in a narcissistic household, diving deep into the passion of dance where criticism runs rampant, and then engaging in my own narcissistic relationships that there was more to my "less than" syndrome than just be being down in the dumps and wondering "what do they have that I don't."

I want to stop here and say this: narcissistic and co-dependent aren't terms that mean you're terrible. It means you learned about relationships in an unhealthy, skewed environment. To what degree varies.

That was my mindset. Everyone else is talented, gifted, blessed, loved, anointed, and whatever positive adjective you'd like to fill in the blank. So, I am now on a mission to help my blog readers, students, and friends with that issue, too.

And herein lies the beauty of that double-edged sword.

By helping others and being vulnerable, I am also healing and living out my mission that everyone can step into the role of what God called them.

I chose to dance. Or did dance pick me? I was good at it, and it made my mom happy. You are only as "good" as your surroundings, so I was in shock when I stepped out into the bigger dance world outside my personal dance studio. I was not that good! Haha.

Nevertheless, I still knew it would make my mom happy, so I charged on through the dance team and the East Carolina University dance department. At ECU, the instructors engaged my passion for creating choreography much deeper than the previous surface praise from my mom. College lit a new fire.

The goal I had always wanted to reach for but have yet to do was this. Write. I composed a couple of poems and short stories my high school and college magazines published, but after that... it dwindled because I wavered. I wasn't good enough. (Compared to who, though? The greats that I read in my college courses?) Writing wasn't going to make anyone happy or proud instantly. (Except me, of course, as a form of release.)

The day I realized I was dangerous with a pen was this one:

In middle school, about seventh or eighth grade, I had a bookcase of journals with any and everything in them. Poems, lists of names for my horses I would own one day, a rant about how I hated my mom for not letting me go to my friend's house, the planned menus and layouts for the restaurants I'd one day cook for, and of course, dance choreography. I had written an emotional expose of how "me," an unseen middle schooler, moved about the dance studio my mother owned.

The story went like this:

Hairspray was lingering in the air. The flash of the light bulb clicked and recharged after every snap the photographer took. I smiled beautifully, held the pose, and breathed through clenched teeth, trying not to show cramps overtaking my muscles. I felt relieved to finish that session and began preparing for the next one.

(Now, middle school me is writing about the past, so I'm an elementary student in the story.)

But my mom couldn't curl my hair, put on my lipstick, or hike up tights up to my ribs because she was busy with the other dance students. She was hemming and hawing over how beautiful everyone looked. I proudly got ready by myself as much as possible, not needing my mother's help because I was fiercely independent. When it came time to fix my hair, I couldn't do it alone.

"Renee, would you like me to put her hair up," the mother of a different dance student asked my mom. My mom said yes, and so she did, all while talking about how busy my mom was and couldn't do these things for me.

It was a melancholy story of sadly having the feeling of being looked over. It's a valid and genuine feeling most middle school girls have. Was it precisely accurate? Honestly, I can't remember. Could it have happened? 9000%!

My mom read it—every word, silently.

"This makes me sound awful, Megan. Like I don't do anything for you. Like I don't care about you. Like I'm just passing you around the studio for other moms to care for," my mother said, crying angry tears.

I immediately ripped it out of my journal of ideas and dreams, shredded it in front of my mother, threw it in the trash, and walked away, bawling my eyes out. We never spoke about it again. I couldn't stand creating a piece that made my mom feel like that, so I pushed and shoved my little middle school feelings down.

This process is also why writing is hard. It brings feelings and triggers to the exterior to the forefront. Things you thought were safe and quiet deep in your heart. Things buried so far down, it's hard to believe that one little thing can't be what's tripping you up, right?

I'm fearful my daughter is/has experienced the same scenario, and that's why I am so mindful to spend quality time with her and to make sure she knows her performance in school, in dance, how she looks in pictures, etc., isn't what makes me happy and proud of her. Her being her, the miracle God blessed me with, makes me smile.

This blog, while I want to share about my trips, my shopping hauls, my recipes, isn't about showing you how I travel the world with no money, or how I afforded the most expensive things for myself or my daughter, or how all my recipes turn out to be Pinterest table-top worthy. (Because none of that is happening anyway, haha.) It's about reaching out to say your "less-than" is more than enough, and you're still worthy... of love, joy, and happiness.

Even with this story, I fear letting my mother down and tarnishing what you guys remember Miss Renee as. We all have a "my mother" story. I'd love to hear yours one day over coffee and say, "Sis, but look at you recognizing that hurt."

But the point is, it's not about me or my mom, really. You see, I'm not the only person who has tried to meet the realistic or unrealistic expectations set forth by people you love in your life. A parent, a husband, an ex, a lover, a best friend, a co-worker, a boss, a teacher or instructor, God... Every day, we are set up to feel exhausted, stressed, ridden with anxiety, lacking, and perpetually less than if we think we have to be in this constant state of pleasing, pleasuring, or attending, approved by, promoted by, praised by, and working to gain favor.

So how do we move forward?

The fact that knowing God has uniquely made each of us is beautiful. No one has to think, speak, act, or even behave like the mold that was handed to them as a child. Not everyone deals with people pleasing as an issue, but it's a hurdle I jump every. single. day. Owning a dance studio and serving people is dangerous territory for me sometimes. I have to remind myself of the boundaries I have in place. Not because I don't like people but because I love my family, husband, and children, and I love that I get to make money doing what I genuinely love. Not just teaching dance but guiding children through art to enrich their lives.

I dance cathartically for the child in me. I blog for you.

I did not realize I was a people pleaser in college, but it makes sense now. I did not know I was a co-dependent person in my previous marriage, but once I realized, light bulbs went off everywhere. I did not think I was honoring and placing people on pedestals around me, giving them the power to break me, but I take that back now.

I will continue to blog if there's just one person I can help:

One teenager who's struggling to find her identity and her worth.

One independent college student, doing everything in her strength instead of knowing and relying on God.

One mom feels stuck because she can't understand why her life cycle looks like unpaid bills, doesn't know how tomorrow will happen, and is tired of people taking advantage of her.

One small business owner who needs to understand there's a line between keeping customers happy and making their happiness your priority.

One divorced woman who thinks she's learned her lesson but keeps re-living the same hurt because you're still gravitating towards the same kind of guy.

And if no one can benefit from my rambling, then at least I know this is good for me and God. To tell my story to someone who might be willing to listen. I'm not good with facts, data, and numbers. But I can write.

I recorded the words spoken over me when I was baptized at Goldsboro Worship Center in the back of my Bible to remember.

"I have placed a new passion in you. The words you have inscribed on paper will increase. There are great things where people will read and be inspired by your words because I put that word in you. And I've held it in your heart. Now your season of release for giftings, for opportunity, for blessings has just begun."

So, I'll write for God. He is worth the time, He is worth the research, He is worth the discovery, He is worth the investment; he is more powerful than my fear of failure or feeling of insignificance. If I'm stingy with what He's given me and do not share it with the world, I won't get too far in life. With Him, my joy is forever and ever.

K bye

Megan

Doing life… the best I know how