#FraudLife

I am a wonderful, loving teacher, an excellent daughter, a God fearing Christian, a compassionate friend...and a fraud. 

Yes, a fraud. 

You may be asking yourself, how in the world is Kayleigh a fraud? Is she a liar? Isn't she a teacher, daughter, Christian, and friend?

Well, dear friend, slide over a little closer and allow me to let you in on a little secret. 

I discovered recently that none of those adjectives describe me, and I feel like I have fooled you all. 

When I receive compliments, I cringe. I do not know how to graciously experience and accept kind words directed towards myself. Not that I don't LIKE hearing good things about myself, I just don't know how to digest them. My ears get hot, my cheeks turn a rosier red than normal, I get a small smile on my face and can just about manage to squeak out a tiny "thank you". 

A wonderful, loving teacher... is how I would describe someone who emulated Mother Teresa in the teaching profession. I am not Mother Teresa. Some days I get so frustrated that I want to walk straight out of the door and never come back. Some days I want to throw my hands in the air and say I give up. When little Johnny pokes his neighbor in the eye with his pencil for the third time in a week, I want to quit. When little Billy throws a fit and yells and cries, I want to climb under my desk and yell and cry, too. I make mistakes on a daily basis. My profession is messy, and I try to put on a good front that I have it all together. But guess what? I am far from having it together. There are days I look at my lesson plans and think "what in the world does this even mean?". There are moments where I think about how increasingly pleasant my life would be if I married a rich man and ran away to someplace tropical. I get stressed, and irritated, and discouraged. And then I look into the sweet little faces in my classroom and remember why I'm there. If I were gone, would another teacher bother to take a breath and calmly tell Johnny to put the pencil down or lose it for the tenth time in a day? Would someone else go and hug little Billy and tell him she understands he's upset and that it's going to be ok? I have to remember that I am doing this job for a reason. I have a purpose. It is frustrating. I may never see the positive outcomes of my work, but I have to trust that they'll be there someday. I, however, am not wonderful and loving. I am a hot mess. I'm trying to survive most days. I mess up and I lose my patience and I want to give up. I love my kids. But some days it feels like I am going bonkers. Some days it seems more appealing to give in and give up than to keep up the fight. 

An excellent daughter...is someone who does everything right. Someone who appreciates their parents. Who can forgive the little things, and love unconditionally. None of those things describe how I am. I am ungrateful. I am a terrible daughter. One day about 2 months ago, I had someone tell me "Your parents are so blessed to have a daughter like you." When I heard those words, I wanted to die. I wasn't speaking to my mom, my dad was driving me crazy, and I was walking around like nothing was happening at all. I roll my eyes, I don't say thank you. I don't easily forgive the little OR the big things. I hold on to all the wrong memories, and don't treasure the right ones. I'm quick to point out their flaws as parents before I ever even think to stop and bring up the million things they've done right. I just cry and moan about the ten they've done wrong. I have you all fooled on this one. I am not an excellent daughter, I'm a horrible daughter. 

A God fearing Christian...describes about 90% of the people I have surrounded myself with. These are people who when the Lord calls them, they answer. When He asks them to do something tough for Him, they are obedient. When things go awry, they pray, they trust, they continue on strong. 

I am not one of these people. 

Sometimes I try to make God wait. When He pushes me to do something difficult I drag my feet, I whine, I complain. I tell everyone how hard it is. I don't always trust. I don't always pray. And rarely do I continue on strong. I'm not always confident that He will pull me through...instead I'm scared. I'm afraid to take a leap of faith, even a tiny one. I'm afraid that when I doubt Him, that it will somehow count against me in my life. I fight with Him. I am not always obedient. 

When I think of a model Christian I do not think of me. I think of someone who has immense amounts of compassion for other people. Someone who jumps at the chance to serve the Lord. People who have memorized mass amounts of scripture and can recite the perfect verse when opportunity arises (you people drive me a little crazy sometimes, to be honest...you're all like "well 1 Corinthians... says..." and I'm all like "I can recite Green Eggs and Ham.") They seem to have it together. I, on the other hand, feel like a fish out of water sometimes (most times). Life is messy. My life is messy. I don't understand why things happen or why God allows them to happen. I constantly question why He chooses me to do things. Sometimes I'm too tired to pray, I think "I'll talk to God later". Too often Jesus gets gently nudged to the side. I worry about what people will think about this life I've chosen. I worry, period. I'm afraid to ask questions, because I want people to think I've got it together. I'm afraid to admit weakness in my faith. Especially in this aspect of my life, I just feel like a fraud plain and simple. A faux Christian. I don't feel like I'm doing a good enough 'job'. And I hate it. And I do everything in my power to keep that from 87% of the people I surround myself with. 

A compassionate friend...is not me. I'm a friend. I'm a funny friend. I can be compassionate sometimes. But other times I want to look at my beautiful, wonderful friends and tell them to shut it. I want to tell them to get over it. That things cannot possibly be that bad or difficult. I don't always take the time to put myself in their shoes. I don't always make it a point to actively listen, and ask questions and give advice. I realized that this was the case when I recently had dinner with Lauren...and only looked at my phone one time the entire 2 hours we were together. I actually did listen, and did ask questions, and realized that I had been missing out on a lot of things my friend had tried to tell me in the past. I missed out on truly being immersed in a great story. I missed out on the little details that could have helped me to give better advice on past troubles. I was not present. I was not always understanding. I was not always sympathetic. Sometimes I'm more interested in expressing my issues than listening to someone else's and that's simply not fair. I am a friend, but I'm not often a very good one. 

I think what I need here is help. I want to be all of these things so I don't feel like I need to deceive you all anymore. Some of these things I know what to do, but others I don't. I don't know how to be more faithful. I don't know how to be more present. I don't know how to remain calm and patient and not want to quit. But I want to learn. So tell me, friends, what advice can you give this fraud?

A Symbol of Hope

I am sure I have told this story before on this blog (probably last Christmas), but I think that it's good enough to share again. There is a four letter word that is powerful, and means a lot to me. It's a word that has many meanings to many people. It's a word that carries the dreams and anxieties of many.

That word is hope. 

Hope is something I believed 3 years ago I did not possess. I was hopeless, helpless, and in all seriousness I was constantly on the verge of death. I felt alone, even when surrounded by masses of people. Do you know how bizarre it feels to feel so alone in a crowd? It is the strangest thing, and not a type of feeling I was getting used to. It happened all of the time, but never ceased to make me feel uncomfortable. 

I was going through the motions at that time. It had been about 7 months since I had been raped, but I was hitting a point where the seriousness of the situation finally had begun to hit. It was my senior year of college and I was a fireball of stress. I was having panic attacks on a consistent basis, and I felt like my world was crashing down around me. College is hard enough. Relationships are hard enough. Throw in a sexual assault and stir in some PTSD and what you have just created is a disaster. I didn't know what to do with myself. Two failed suicide attempts later (one may not count to many as an attempt, but it counts to me) and I was a hot mess.

No one needed me. If I was gone no one would miss me. I was convinced I would flunk out of school even though my supervisor was doing everything in her power to pull me through. My roommates were starting to slink back into the shadows of their own lives. Friends I once had, had chosen his side and decided that I was not worthy of their friendship. I was alone, I was sad, and I was afraid. I constantly feared for my life but was often met with the words of those who were trying to encourage, but only made it worse. 

"You have nothing to be afraid of...", they said.

"It's been 6 months.", they retorted. 

"You're safe. You're going to be ok."

As far as I was concerned, as long as he was free I was not safe. As long as he walked this earth I would never be safe. Even to this day I am fearful. I am not in a constant state of fear, but there are still those moments where I want to lock myself in my home and never leave. If I lock myself in, he'll never get to me. 

I was not going home for Christmas this year as I had to work the holiday in order to pay some of my bills. I felt so alone it hurt. 

One night I decided to just drive around town and maybe look at some Christmas lights. I drove to Cookout and ordered an Eggnog milkshake (delicious!). I started driving in no particular direction and soaked in the different neighborhood Christmas displays. Some 30 minutes later I drove, by chance, through the Sunset Hills neighborhood and that's when something changed in me. 

I saw the most beautiful Christmas lights I have ever seen in my life. 

If you have never driven through that neighborhood let me explain this to you. They wrap twinkle lights around chicken wire to form balls. They then string them throughout the trees. These lights hang down and encase the neighborhood in beautiful, twinkling, colorful lights. 

Those lights were literally my light in the midst of darkness. I was filled with so much joy as my car crept through the quiet street. They opened something within my heart and filled me with so much peace. I deserved to live. I was needed. I just simply had to be reminded of the beauty of the world. I watched couples slowly making their way down the sidewalk soaking in this sight as much as they could. It was incredible. 

Every night until January, I drove down those streets with an eggnog milkshake in hand. I would blast Christmas music (mostly Glee...I was obsessed at the time) and I would smile. 

Those lights were my symbol of hope.

Tonight I took a trip down memory lane. I grabbed an eggnog milkshake from Cookout (keeping the tradition alive) and drove through Sunset Hills admiring my small, but mighty, symbols of hope. 

I now place my hope in a power higher than some strings of Christmas lights. Those lights didn't completely fix me, but they helped me to hang on a little longer. I know now that coming across this neighborhood and these lights was no accident. I didn't believe in God at the time, but looking back I know His hand was in that moment. I truly believe He orchestrated my trip so that I could have more time to make a difference and leave my mark on this world. 

Tonight I am thankful for many things. I am thankful for the people who have walked in and out of my life. I am thankful for my 13 little blessings. I am grateful for the people who have, and continue to mentor me. I am, however, especially thankful for eggnog milkshakes, balls of sparkling Christmas lights, and hope.