What happens when the world tells you you’re too much, not enough, too aggressive, too quiet, too standoffish for having boundaries, or too nosy for caring about people? And when you look inward to commit to changing your behaviour, are they satisfied?
At some point along the way, after several complaints about our behaviour, do you ask the world why it never seems to be enough—that the expectations have become unreasonable? Do they tell you it’s all in your head, or do they take responsibility for expectations they may not even realise they’ve forced upon you?
For a significant part of my life, I struggled with imposter syndrome. During my university days, I felt the pressure to get ahead and, at the very least, keep up with my peers. I pushed myself to achieve big things to fuel my sense of worth in the eyes of these friends, and boy, did I achieve. It’s not like many people can say they built a community of over 1,000 people as a young entrepreneur in their early adulthood.
At least, that’s what people told me. I didn’t find it particularly impressive. If anything, I kept wondering when people would realise I didn’t know what I was doing—that I was a fraud who did random things in succession, which just happened to thrive.
I just didn’t feel worthy. Yet, the following projects I pursued gave me confidence. But that’s not to say I did it on my own. I encountered many people who never hesitated to encourage and push me to grow, all while God was beside me.
I had lots of friends. Key word, had. When I stopped having the energy to put effort into exciting events, initiating catch-ups and whatever else, I realised not many people reciprocated my enthusiasm. And it felt lonely.
Sorry, I have something else on.
That’s okay.
I double-booked, sorry. Can we do another day?
Sure, what day can you do? I’ll make time.
I wish I didn’t have to be the one to initiate all the time. It’s exhausting to try and try and try when everything else is going wrong in my life.
Can we please spend time together? It’s been a while.
Sorry, I’ve been pretty busy. Can you do three weeks from now?
Three weeks? Can you do anything closer than that?
I don’t know, I’ve just been really tired. I haven’t been sleeping very well, but I got to play Val for the first time in like a month!
Okay, that’s fine.
Why is it so difficult to spend time with people I love? I don’t really feel like a priority to anyone.
Sorry, something has come up. Is it okay if I see you another day?
What if I said no?
Sorry, it’s an emergency.
I see.
I love you.
Mm.
This has happened too much and from different people for it to be a coincidence. It’s not just an isolated incident. Is there something wrong with me?
Hey...
Are you free next Tuesday? I’ve been trying to find a time to catch up with you!
I can be.
Do you want to get dinner somewhere? Is there anywhere in particular you want to go?
Not really, you can decide.
Oh. That’s weird. Someone wants to spend time with me.
Are you free on Saturday? I feel like I haven’t talked to you as much lately.
Let’s catch up.
Ok.
After several rehashes of double-bookings, cancellations and lack of initiative, these sudden messages from people seemed too good to be true. So I steeled myself for the disappointment of another reschedule because it’s what I’ve become accustomed to.
I wanted to do life with others, but it didn’t seem like anyone else wanted the same. I’m still stuck living in a warped reality—in a place where my flaws are all that I see. It’s hard to believe people will love you as you are when they do everything to avoid you and push you away. Because maybe, you’ll never be enough.
It’s what I’ve been taught: that I’m too much, not enough, too gloomy, but don’t share anything about myself because I’ve already been told I shouldn’t be so negative all the time. There’s nothing about me to love. I hate who I see in the mirror.
God, why did You look at creation and think the world needs one of me? I know You gave me the gift of hospitality and the emotional capacity to love countless people at once. But as I am now, I am useless and lacking in everything. It was at my best, when I had everything to give, that I was loved by others. Everyone else has abandoned me, and still, You stayed. You loved me for me because it was in your nature.
One thing I’ve always been conscious of and, perhaps even ashamed of, is this character trait I possess. And I’ve always wondered whether others also thought the same—that I was this gloomy girl who was moody all the time. I hated that about myself. But still, You loved me.
I remember sharing this with someone once. And his response was unexpected. He turned to me and told me he never considered me a gloomy girl, but rather someone a little more reserved and very thoughtful. I was confused that he didn’t just agree with me, but I was happy, and his words brought me a lot of peace. And Father, I imagine You would have held me and reassured me in the same way.
I can be very reserved in certain settings. I still tend to withdraw and get shy when I get in my head, and sometimes, it can be hard to distinguish the truth from fiction. But it’s a work in progress. Despite being able to tell others they are worthy of love, I didn’t believe it—I wasn’t worthy.
I’m not worthy.
But I know this: the devil spins a compelling web of lies to convince us we’re beyond salvation and love. And I think I’m still caught in that lie. But Jesus died for me, He washed me clean and made me worthy.
And isn’t that the greatest love letter of all? That we were given the gift of unconditional and sacrificial love at a great cost?
I have felt the sting of being invisible and ignored and unprioritised. Your sense of worth really struggles when everyone around you has made clear in action that you’re not worth the effort—that you aren’t meaningful or special to them.
So for those spending Valentine’s Day alone, I hope that this may bring you comfort. There is no greater love than that of the Father.
So, therefore, I am worthy of being loved. And tomorrow, I hope I still believe that.
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