Lynse Leanne

I think i have found my life’s soap box.  You know, the thing that gets your blood boiling faster than anything else on the entire world.  I say i “found” it, but truthfully, its always been there….but i have just now discovered the line that ties all the things i thought were just floating in the nebulous land of soap boxes.

My soap box: Discounting.  Plain and simple.

I am not talking about the awesome discounts you get when you use coupons or whatever but the discounting of people and their experiences.

In TwentyFourSeven Leadership Academy that I was in for 2 years nearly drilled this concept into my head.  I never really understood the importance of the concept until recent “soul searching”.  We were taught time and time again to not “discount” other students experiences by making off the cuff comments about how bad that sermon was or how much we hated that song or how lame that mission project was.  I never got it cause i was just being sarcastic or voicing my opinion.  Then one day the heart of it was explained to me.  I had a light switch moment. It made sense in my head.

Just because I didn’t like the song or the sermon or the experience or the memories that was being created didn’t mean that everyone felt the same way.  Maybe the song that we sang lead to breakthrough in someones life or the message i was critiquing and stating how “lower shelf” it was and just senseless babble brought freedom to that person.  You never know.  Speaking poorly about an experience that may have meant the world to someone else is discounting it for them.  You are making it a little less special for them.  You are calling doubt and question into play in an experience that could be the catalyst for life change.

Discounted.

This is why comparing stories and testimonies frustrate me so much.  I wrote about it here (we are all right).  Just because my story may be more intense or less intense than yours doesn’t and shouldn’t discount the fact that you are a person with stories and experiences that make you.

You are not me.  You are you.

That’s another form of discounting that can lead a persons voice or perceived voice to be stolen from them.

I had a similar experience a while back where i felt like my feelings and experiences i had been through were being discounted because it was “not as bad or serious” as the person i was being compared to.  My emotions, feelings and experiences were discounted.  They were made less because someone felt that i had no right to have those feelings and emotions.

Discounted.

For me, it caused me to shut down and feel like my voice was taken.  That my feelings and experiences were no longer valid.  That forever i would be compared to _________ and if my thoughts and feelings were not deemed acceptable they should not be shared.

I had allowed myself to be discounted.

I spent a few weeks angry.  Then i was hurt.  Then i was angry again.  And in all of this i stopped updating my blog, i stopped commenting on blogs because i didnt feel like i had a voice to contribute or an opinion that was valued.

I don’t know that i truly understood the concept until that moment.  Until i had experienced being discounted.  The gut wrenching feeling of my feelings being discounted.

I have since spent some time finding my value and voice in things other than blogging and twitter.  I don’t feel discounted anymore.

Through my experience and hurt i discovered my life’s soap box.  The little piece of what i view as injustice that i can fight for.

What’s your life’s soapbox?  What makes your blood boil?

After we moved here in March I threw myself in to the desire to meet new people and make friends and get attached here. I was trying to make it my home. I was making an effort to better mine and Chad’s relationship….and many of you know twitter, facebook and blogging has been something that hasn’t assisted in the bettering of us. so i kind of broke away from it for a bit.

I stopped.
I started a new twitter account for many purposes but mostly to simplify.
I was over the popularity contest that i saw brewing online.

It had become a lot like High School drama and i was getting stressed over it and i didn’t want to be. I didn’t want stress. Twitter, Facebook and blogging had been my stress reliever, it was the place i went like another world that took me away from the stress of my then job. It was my make believe world that i could escape to and find refuge in.

I went through i time when i really wanted to just focus on living in the now. I posted over on Elora’s blog while she was in Africa something that was making my heart beat at the time. I posted about how i had been living life through 140 characters and to a point i think it hindered my experiences. It hindered what i got out of the moment because i wanted to share it with everyone and break this sometimes magical moment that can never be recreated. You can read it here.

The last couple of weeks I have been wrestling with some things in life like who i am. what kind of friend do i want to be. where did i see me in 5 years. where do i see chad and i in 5 years.

And for me personally the best way for me to spend some time hashing things out is to write. I know i am not the most fantastic writer and i use “…” too much and write in run on sentences that make my English teacher friends cringe (sara and elora), but it is in fact my outlet. And i stopped it.

But i want it back. I want to write again. I want to share my happiness. My struggles. My fears. My failures. My successes. I want to share it with you all.

So i want back. I can not promise i will update daily, but i am going to try and update more often. And it may be more raw as i fight some things out inside of me. I hope that you will join me.

buckle up. it could be an interesting ride.

The other night Chad and i were watching Criminal Minds. In this episode a little girl was kidnapped and the FBI “experts” began to tell the parents that the person who took their child was viewing her as an object and not a little girl. This struck a very big chord with me.

Through out my life I have been objectified.

I was abused by several men growing up and because they viewed me as an object. I was no longer Lynse, my identity was taken away and i had become just another thing….a baseball card that is bought and sold…when you are done with it you maybe put it in the closet or throw it away.

There is not a lot of value in an object.

After years of being treated like an object i began to believe that i was an object. I was there for someone else’s pleasure. my dreams, aspirations and voice did not matter, because, you see, i was only an object.

I am no expert, but i feel like a lot of people i have talked to who were abused woke up one day and felt like “i have to find myself” or “reclaim who i am”.

As i was half watching Criminal Minds and half having an inner dialogue about the damage of being objectified i realized that it was probably the most damaging aspect, for me, of the abuse.

Once you are objectified over and over and over you begin to think you are an object and you follow suit of your abusers and remove your own value.

And the on going cycle begins…if you dont have any value in yourself then others wont value you.

today as i am 10 years past the most recent sexual abuse trauma i am still left picking up the pieces. I still am trying to learn to value myself. I am still trying to see that i have a voice and those that love me should value what i have to say. I am still learning that i am a valued person by those around me, and i deserve to be valued. I deserve to be a person and not an object.

This is why when we went to New Orleans and walked Bourbon Street messed with me. This is why a part of my heart aches for human trafficking victims. Not that i know the extent of the pain, loneliness and all other emotions that have to be tied up in there. But i know just a sliver. I know what it feels like to be devalued. To be told over and over by different people that you are worth no more than sex or the pleasure that you can provide to them.

each person deserves to be valued. valued by themselves and others.

this is something i am still learning…and will probably be learning for my entire life. Learning to first value myself and then those around me.

Do you have a hard time valuing yourself? What about others?

This is a movie that we have seen…twice.  it is called Lord, Save Us From Your Followers.

Each time i see it, it reminds me that we are to be LOVE to the world. How else will people around us know that we have the LOVE of God? If we repel people by offending them instead of loving them where they are what will make them want to come to God, who is LOVE.

I think about my story and how i got into church…i was a rebel, i was angry. I smoked, drank and cussed like a sailor. I had no reference for what was wrong or right in church or as a “christian.” No one had told me. It was a make it up as you go situation. But there were people, to whom i am so grateful for, who came alongside me and LOVED me where i was…and for who i was then. They knew that if they could encourage me to get closer to the God of LOVE that the different things in my life would begin to line up with scripture.

Had they have sat me down and attacked me i would have been so turned off…and to be honest i would still be turned off. I sent this tweet on Friday and i stand by it

“Don’t get me wrong I love Gods truth but if you say it in a judging manner and not in love I don’t want to hear it.”

There is a difference in speaking the truth in love and speaking it with judgement. LOVE compels you to improve while judgment causes you to back off and turn away.

So, i have a two part question….and would love your thoughts….

1.  Is it christians that are turning people away from God with their actions, words and judgement?

2.  As a christian, what could you/we do better?

As we are getting ready to move and packing we are also going through everything I own. EVERYTHING. The other night I found some old papers that I had written in High School that I held onto and i found this one. It is called “The Way She Feels.”. It is a story I had to write. The feelings are all mine…but I didn’t live in San Franscisco. That part was made up so teachers didn’t know it was about me. ;)

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Dark night, dark blood carrying with it a river of rage that had brought her to this point. And the horror of it suddenly shone with the clarity of her face in the mirror as she reached down for the razor blade. She always kept a constant supply of loose blades for when the rage took over. The cutting helps relieve the tension, she says to herself in a reassuring voice. I’m not addicted, I don’t have to do it, I just do.

She lives on the street in San Franscisco, it gets cold at night. She doesn’t know where her home is, she doesn’t have a home. Every passing day she is more mad at herself for where he life is, or isn’t in her case. She holds so much rage and pain in her sixteen year old being. People say singing or writing is their therapy but it is really their “release” from a “free” world where everything is dictated. She sees drugs, alcohol and citing as her way out of a life she dreams of leaving everyday.

The blade is bone chilling as she drags it across her stomach as she does each time. She stops and sits in silence for a minute or so, and waits. She is waiting for the pride inside of her to die and the courage to rage so she can have the guts to push hard enough to break the skin. You would think after two years of cutting it would e no problem, not for her, it’s more like a ritual. In this ritual she is waiting for the pride to die so she can humble herself before her “god” an refuge of cutting. She places cutting before anything, before life, love and herself. The pain that is carried with cutting, pain on the outside is no match for the pain that she feels inside, the void of something she has never felt for herself.

She never cuts deep enough to do more than hurt the skin, she is too afraid. She doesn’t know that cutting the outside is killing her on the inside. So many people care that she doesn’t know about. Since she left home when she was thirteen she has thought parents have no care in the world. They only think about themselves.

As she presses the blade a surge of pain jets through her body giving her a “supernatural” feeling, if she even believes in anything spiritual. It feels so good. How could other people not get how good it feels? The blood trickles down her stomach and pools into her bellybutton. It’s like she has left her body. Like she is sitting on the stairs, watching herself. She knows that it hurts but not knowing what else to do. Cutting is her way out of a boring life into a life less ordinary. A life not too many sixteen year olds lead. Cutting to the world is wrong, it’s morbid and people that do it deserve to be locked up and need only counseling.

But to her cutting is all she has to survive the nothingness her life is.

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As I read this I was taken back to when I was 16. And when all of those feelings and emotions were true to me. I was a little girl trying so hard to get caught. To be found out so I wouldn’t have to live in silence.

It makes me wonder how many other people are out there just wanting their addictions to be found out so the silence can be broken.