Owning My Story

"Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light." -Brene Brown

For about the past three years or so I have become quite religious about the whole New Years Resolutions scene. The first year I went an entire 12 months without drinking a drop of soda... the next I gave up candy. After that I made a goal to make regular temple attendance a greater priority, and now I'm here.

2013... what a year. Honestly, when I started writing my recap post I was almost a little bit dissapointed... nothing noteworthy seemed to be there (besides, you know, meeting my husband and crap). I huffed, staring at the screen with seemingly meaningless bullet points, outlining the draft of a year that seemed so full of hurdles, challenges, and growth and yet was spitting in my face with the absurdity of it's initially appearing inadequacy.

At first I was offended.

How dare my accomplishments seem so small.

How dare the year be summed up in under ten points.

How dare it force me to add in "filler" accomplishments in order to beef up the year.

...

...

...

But then I felt a flicker of enlightenment.

A quote by Ghandi came to mind, "Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it".

However, my enlightenment was short lived due to my short fuse and I drowned out the revelation with sympathetic hipster music and Netflix documentaries that made me feel smarter.

Sometimes I need to feel smarter.

Needless to say, I shut my laptop for a while, ignored writing the traditional recap post, and focused a little bit more on settling into this new life. Doing laundry, burning dinner, moving Rylee in, getting back into school, loving my husband, being loved by my husband.

But why was there still this nagging little chip on my shoulder that kept me from being as blissfully happy as I could have been, and maybe should have been? Why didn't the sweetest of moments taste as sweet as they seemed they should have? Why did I keep going back to that tiny little list that represented what I had felt was so much spiritual and emotional growth? Why did I feel so far from God?

Here's three guesses why.

1. I was HARDCORE buying into gender stereotypes.... hardcore people. Now all you people out there who are about to get all "Oh no you diiiiiidn't..." on my behind? Get off yo' high horse and start getting real. Because I was so convinced that I was just going to be this wonderful wife who would always be happy and loving and would cook these wonderful meals, and stay on top of meal planning, and cleaning, and shopping, and budgeting, and would wake up early every morning and make breakfast and would shave my legs... like... at least sometimes... etc. But guys. Let's be real here for a second. Trying to do all of... that looked and felt just a little bit like this...

I was trying sooo hard to stay glamorous for the cameras, to just make it to backstage... but falling was inevitable. My very patient, very wise husband finally sat me down and told me, "Darling... don't think of this as a marriage. Think of this as a partnership, or a live-in relationship... just two college students living together. Sometimes you'll do the laundry, sometimes I will. Sometimes, you'll cook sometimes I will. Sometimes one of us will do something and you know what, sometimes neither of us will and you know what? The world still turns and it's nobody's fault." So the other day I was driving home. No plans for dinner. A messy kitchen waiting for me. I bought Filibertos on the way home and ate it affirming to myself, "This is allowed. This doesn't make me a bad wife. In fact, nothing that doesn't directly pertain to the way I love my husband makes me a bad wife... I'm going to enjoy this damn greasy Mexican take-out and enjoy every piece of it."

...and I did. :)

And you know what? The minute I did I stopped feeling like that ^^^...

...and stared feeling more like this!

And who doesn't want to feel like this?!?

2. I kept buying into the fallacy that everybody has it together except for me.

My other married friends don't feel like I do. They don't get depressed like I do. They don't get anxious like I do. They aren't as needy as I am. They're already incredible cooks and home makers... I'm just such a slacker. The craziest thing is that I didn't even realize that I was thinking this way at first. In fact, I didn't catch it until Taylor one day interrupted me mid rant and said, "Do you hear yourself sweetheart?" I had literally uttered the words, "You would probably be happier being married to her anyway... or at least someone more like her and less like me" like it was nothing! It had been so offhand that I wouldn't have even noticed how wretched it was unless my husband had called me on it. I couldn't believe that I was buying into false reality so much that I had told the love of my life that he would be happier with a woman less like the one that he fell in love with... as if I wasn't worthy of his unconditional love and affection anymore because of unfolded laundry.

Guys, let's get real again. Real love is better than that. It's classier than that, less fickle than that. Love is too pure, too gritty, too real to be jeopardized by neglected chores and off-days. 

3. I wouldn't own my story, I wouldn't. Because owning it meant identifying with the truth of the imperfections I was trying to deny I had. I wanted so badly to be perfect in this new life that I was terrified of becoming vulnerable to the fact that I, in fact, will never be so. And who wants to be perfect anyway? Perfect people don't get to enjoy the fun and the ridiculous of life. Perfect people don't get to yell, and sing, and dance, and swear, and cry, and laugh like we, the beautifully flawed, do. Perfect died on the cross. Imperfect worships perfect, imperfect does not become perfect in this mortal life. When imperfect tries to become perfect in this life, nothing but disappointment and discouragement can come... what else could come when trying to defy the physical laws of heaven and earth? This mortal life is a period for us to become like Christ, but not a time to expect to BE exactly like him... let me explain. The word "become" clarifies that our journey of Christ-like emulation is a process, a life-long one. Through every season of my life I will have the privilege of perfecting myself just an inch more, no more, no less. As a brand new wife I'm not supposed to know exactly how to cook and clean and shop and budget and love. I'm new to this whole "marriage" thing, who says you have to get the hang of it right off the bat? I'm sure that when I've been married for fifty years there will still be things that I can work on... in fact I KNOW that there will be. That's life.

 

I still haven't finished my 2013 recap post... in fact, it's taken me several weeks to write this one. But the point of my little rant here is this:

For the year of 2014 the most important thing I can do isn't to abstain from soda, and it isn't trying to monotonize my temple attendance (though that is important). What I have been feeling and praying for is the ability to make this year the year of owning it. All of it. All the best and worst parts of my story, all of the best and worst parts of myself, all of the stupid things that make me who I am are as important as the wonderful things that do the same job: make me human.

I am ready to work on loving myself and allowing myself to be loved.

I am ready to stop feeling embarrassed and allowing my feelings to be dictated by what others think (or, more often than not, what I think they think).

I am ready to more fully embrace being vulnerable and accepting that, as Brene Brown said it perfectly, exploring the darkness of myself to more fully understand and embrace the light.

 

My name is Jadyn Maree Kerby and this is my story: my last name is technically still "Hicks" because I have yet to drag my behind to the courthouse to change it. I did something I always said I'd never do and got married at 19 years old after dating my husband for less than a year. I got engaged after dating him for four and a half months. We got married in five more. I hate cooking. I'm obsessed with dogs. I'm not going to continue to get my Bachelors degree after I graduate with my license and AA in the spring. I love Bollywood. I could eat Grapefruit all day. I'm terrified of The Walking Dead but Taylor can still talk me into it every now and again... I always get nightmares later. I'm addicted to gum and essential oils. I cry at everything. I have short hair like a boy, but I'm a girl. I love YouTube. My favorite color is purple. I love kids. I love to sew but hardly ever have the patience for it. I fell madly in love with the ex-boyfriend of my best friend's cousin. I cancelled the first three dates on him... in my defense I had been told he was mentally unsound. ;) Taylor was my first kiss. I was Taylor's first "I love you". I love art and the outdoors. I'm also a hipster-y music snob. Except... not a snob.

And you know what? It's okay! All of it. I love it and I own it. You can't live a fully happy life if you're still hiding in the "closet" of your own psyche. It doesn't matter if your closet is owning your sexuality or owning your education choices. Whether it be owning the fact that you can't get pregnant or owning the fact that you got pregnant on your honeymoon. Admitting you have an addiction or admitting you're overwhelmed by your life. All of it is the same, all of it matters. All of US are the same, and WE all matter.

In short, this was just a long way of me saying that I have finally decided to give myself some much needed validity.

And it's okay for you to do the same. :)