Surrendering the Penguin

Letting Go of Not Being Enough

Although the penguin is from Pinterest and credit given in the image, it is a close replica to a penguin I was obsessed with creating.

Why?

I felt I needed to bring something to the table.

Here’s the story. I grew up in a small family that had deep wounds from the past. My mom was basically orphaned at seven. She was raised by older siblings who wanted to live their lives.

My dad was a very poor farm boy raised by a tyrant of an alcoholic. He was gone before I was born, but no one had one good thing to say about him. How my grandparents got together, I have no idea. I heard my grandmother was the kindest.

Mom admitted there was no mommy programming or mentoring like I had raising my kids. She did the best she could, but she wasn’t raised with love or nurturing. Neither was my dad.

On top of that, my dad was surrounded by what I call word curses. You know, “You’ll never amount to…” or “You’re nothing but a …” It’s all he knew. So when he drank, all he knew to numb pain (my grandparents ended up sending him to an older sibling out of poverty only to visit and find them in the 1950’s with a brand new color TV) the repeated phrases passed from my grandpa to my dad, and from my dad to me.

Wounded people wound people.

So I heard a lot of the same talk. In inebriated moments I heard I was nothing. I’d never amount to anything. I should move my blankety-blank and stop being lazy.

By the time I was in my early twenties, I was convinced I was worth nothing. I remember one Valentine’s Day my best guy friend got his girlfriend roses and paid through the nose for them. I confessed I’d be low maintenance. If I wasn’t being hit, that would be a victory for me. At the time I wasn’t dating anyone, but I wasn’t looking for anything but a breathing man. I was quite broken.

My life certainly improved when I added my relationship with God through Jesus to it. I wasn’t perfect, but I was slowly learning that my Heavenly Father wasn’t a mean old man ready to punish me. His arms are open willing to love on anyone willing to make that first step.

Even marriage didn’t magically fix those childhood wounds. As good as my husband treated me, I was waiting for the shoe to drop. Why was he with me, anyway? I used to break off the few relationships I had as a preventative measure to them dropping me. My husband was different. When I tried to quit, he wouldn’t let me. When I’d start something to make him angry so he’d leave like I knew he would, he didn’t.

But I still felt unworthy.

Enter his family. Where it was just me and his sister, my in-laws were a family of six kids. Five boys and a girl who could hold her own. They loved fierce with hugs and I love you’s at the end of every phone call and meeting. That was absolutely foreign and scary to me.

His parents welcomed significant others like me immediately. You could meet them once and need clothes and their parents would have gone without to provide. They were very generous. My parents were that too, but the nurturing part was something new for me to experience.

I remember one Thanksgiving when they were hosting. I was a new parent who was sleep-deprived and at a hormonal bottom. On my own, I didn’t think I was good enough to be a part of anything. Add postpartum and I really, really struggled.

I convinced myself I could not attend any holiday event at my in-laws unless I brought something to the table. Literally.

The food was taken care of, so that intensified my feeling of lack. There wasn’t Pinterest back then, so my guess is I found a magazine with a centerpiece. An eggplant penguin centerpiece.

I became obsessed.

I stayed up well into the early morning whittling away on this poor eggplant instead of sleeping. I was going to bring a centerpiece and that was my ticket to earning my way in.

Here’s the truth. Marrying their son was my entry. I didn’t need to bring dinner rolls, a centerpiece or even their newest grandson to the table. I was welcome as is.

If you struggle with self-worth, let’s chat. Broken people break people. Wounded people wound people. If you were told you were lazy, fat, stupid, ugly, whatever the pronouncement was, that was a broken person talking. Whatever their wound is, they are incapable of speaking promises over anyone, including themselves.

But I know the truth about you. Whether you believe or not, you are a creation made from the hands of God. He’s the best of everything. If you love sports, He’s better than LeBron. Love art? He makes Picasso look like a child artist. God is perfect. He doesn’t make junk. And He made you.

Therefore, you aren’t junk. You are the apple of His eye. You were created with purpose. You are not an accident or a mistake. If you have frizzy hair or are shorter than you want to be, it’s not an oops on God’s part. There is a reason.

Sure, I need to watch my extra pounds not only because I want to take care of what God gave me, but I also know the issues behind my weight are also things God uses to encourage others. I’ve overcome infertility. Severe PCOS. Multiple surgeries. Endometriosis. Severe menopause. Hormonal imbalance.

Yet even with those things, I know deep in my heart I am not bad, faulty, or worthless. Now I come to tables with my head held high, ready to encourage anyone who feels they don’t belong. I remember those days, and no one should lose sleep carving out an eggplant.

As kind as my in-laws were about that centerpiece, it got in the way of the food. My conversation and presence were much more precious to them than that penguin.

You are precious. You have important things to say that build up, not tear down. You are not less than.

How do I know?

We have the same Father.

As for the chocolate mention, my go-to when I felt less than was M&M’s. Is it because they look like medicine? I don’t know, but when I’d rehearse the words said over me (I was smart, not pretty/I was lazy, fat…) out came the M&M’s. When my now husband asked me to be his girlfriend, it was a family camping trip and I survived the nerves by eating M&Ms all weekend long. It became too much, even throwing some back and calling it breakfast. Then lunch. Have some for dinner. Of course a few more as a dessert. Today, I have had to let most of that go. Peanut M&M’s really became an issue, so I think before I reach to buy them. The boost I feel is temporary, the consequences last longer. But it’s the one candy that’s usually associated with me.

If this and/or my other posts are an encouragement to you, check me out on Link Tree. I have small-town romance book with surrender issues and chocolate on Amazon, as well as social media links where I love to engage with others. Thanks for being here.