I Don't Care what Anyone Thinks

 "I don't care what anyone thinks" is a phrase that feels good rolling off the tongue, lie though it is. We would like to think we are too old to care and far too mature for anyone's opinion of us to matter. Shoot, but we see it from the young toddler vying for his mom's attention to see his wooden block tower, all the way to the 62 year old top executive who takes a second in the bathroom to breathe wondering what his peers thought of his proposal. In an instant, anything from a stain on our shirt to putting our heart and soul into a project for everyone to see, can reduce us to being as valuable as what another person thinks of us. 

The other day I was sitting with a resident who was in her mid-50s. She was sharing with me about how her ex-husband had blackballed her and spread lies about her. She explained how he always seemed to come out without a blemish or wrinkle, and a smile to boot. I could feel her heartache and the defeat she felt at others believing things about her that weren't true. Loved ones, even.  She cared about what they thought.

I had an experience recently where I was filled with shame and doubt about myself. I had expressed an opinion quite passionately with a group of people who I sensed did not wholeheartedly agree. It wasn't that I believed what I said was somehow wrong. I know I made a valid point that I stick by. But, when I walked away I had the distinct feeling of being talked about, and not favorably. I wondered what they were thinking and was afraid I had offended someone. I found myself later trying to make up for it in subtle ways - trying to win back their approval (which I probably never lost) in order to make myself feel better.  I cared what they thought.

Isn't it something how a certain someone's face will come to mind when we have completed something or are about to make a decision and we can hear their voice disapproving? We can even see their facial expression and verbal tone. And, pretty soon it becomes a scenario where we are now mentally telling that person off and defending our decision! Most of the time, it's even someone we don't like that much and hardly respect! We end the dramatization by saying under our breath, "I couldn't give a rat's @$$ what they think." Even now, I'm wondering if I'll be judged for writing the word, "@$$." A donkey. Hasn't anyone ever heard of a donkey?

We care what people think.

But, this isn't always a bad thing. Caring about what others think can also help us stay out of trouble and make wise decisions.  How many of us have that one person who we really respect - a parent, grandparent, friend, boss, mentor? How many times do we wonder at their reaction and then act accordingly? How many times can we visualize them smiling and giving us a thumbs up? How many times do we hesitate before moving ahead, thinking of what they might say, and then pull back the reigns? The opinions of those we trust and love are important. They can be a wonderful guide as we walk through life. Their voices matter and should be considered.

Included in this caring about what others think, I want to say that we are often more popular in our own head than we are with other people. We think of ourselves way more than others think of us. I would guess that half the time when we are worried about what someone else is thinking, they're actually thinking about what they want on their pizza or what TV show they're going to watch, not you!

I do want to acknowledge the pain of this particular struggle, though. Some of us are bigger people pleasers than others. Some have been tossed to and fro so many times that others' opinions weigh heavier than necessary. There is no condemnation. We all come at this from a different place. In some situations you may care very much about people's opinions and in another situation, it really won't matter to you. It could be as simple as not getting enough sleep the night before or as complicated as a battered suitcase full of stuff we're dragging around. 

People do hurt us. People can talk. Some of it's true and some of it's not and sometimes that doesn't even matter. It is a solitary road at times walking through this life. When I think of the resident who talked to me about her ex-husband, that is no small thing to walk through with shoulders back and chin up. It takes enormous self-control and maturity to not defend oneself and to hold closely to the heart what one knows as truth.

Psalm 118: 6-9 "The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me? The Lord is with me; he is my helper. I will look in triumph on my enemies. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in princes."

Proverbs 29:25 "Fear of man will prove to be a snare, but whoever trusts in the Lord is kept safe."

Exodus 14:14 "The Lord himself will fight for you. Just stay calm." 

I am so far from even remotely mastering not caring what anybody thinks that it is almost laughable God inspired me to write about it. But, I am not without growth in this area, either. God's word is full of the definition of who you are. THE REAL DEFINITION. The more immersed you are in God's word and the more you cultivate an intimate relationship with Jesus Christ, the better equipped you are to value those opinions worth valuing. In addition, you are better equipped to hear the voice of God, whose thoughts about you and your life circumstances far outshine anyone else's.

Another practice I have found valuable, is being my own counselor. The other day when I had the experience of wondering what my peers thought and the subsequent shame, I had to step back and re-evaluate. I mentally ran through the scenario as an observer. I came to the conclusion that I hadn't done anything wrong and that what I spoke about was legitimate and done in a respectable way. I had used my voice well. Of course, after evaluating, the opposite could have been true just as easily. In those instances, we may need to remedy the situation, or maybe even offer an apology. And, that's okay, too!

Lastly, what has been freeing for me is being honest with myself. The fact is, I do care about what other people think. Just saying it out loud somehow lessens the brute authority of it. It's like, oh well and okay, and somehow that feels good! I don't sound more cool, sassy, cute, or tough by saying, "I don't care what anyone thinks." Let's get real!

Some voices matter and they should. Others don't, and they should not. We can grow at better deciphering that as we also grow and abide in the unconditional love of Jesus Christ. 

Where is the Connection?

There is no time in history like today to feel the painful effects of disconnection from people. Quarantining, social distancing, fear of others, and even mask wearing have all served to encourage an already disconnected society inflamed by every technology under the sun. It seems like the more ways we have to communicate, the less we are actually communicating. As I laid in bed in the early morning hours I thought about a conversation I recently had with someone. This person had been profoundly let down by friends who didn't show up to something important and it wasn't the first time. It is easy to express compassion, love, and support with the tap of a screen and something altogether different to actually show up. Words can be cheap and even cheaper are the ones typed out when no action is behind them. We have all done it and we have all been the recipient of this.  

I sat with a resident the other day and her posture spoke of shame and wanting to be invisible. We talked about this and I could tell that she desperately wanted to be seen even as she wanted to hide. When I brought this up, she actually made eye contact with me, shrugged, and half smiled in the saddest of ways. People are desperate to be seen, heard, and known. People's mental, physical, and spiritual health are deteriorating for lack of connection. I need to ask myself and ask you as well, how are we contributing to this? You can get 1,000 likes and lots of attention on social media but make no mistake, that is not synonymous with connection and relationship. And, we all know it. We feel it in our heart, mind, and body. We can speak about relationship and love, but if it is not backed up by action, the words fall flat and are empty. Sometimes, I think we are all the biggest bunch of hypocrites. While I say this bluntly, I promise that I also say it gently. With increased ways to communicate with people all over the world and under our own roof, we actually sort of suck at relating and connecting. I know I speak for many of you who have put time and effort into extending invites, organizing events, reaching out to a friend, asking a simple question via a text message, and being completely ignored. I have come to a place, and it has taken a while, to not take this personally (at least for the most part). Communication styles vary like the weather. We all come from a different place when it comes to relating and the expression of relationship looks differently as well. That being said, we have got to get better. We have to be better about being intentional. We have to be better about GIVING and RECEIVING. Face to face and real attunement with others almost feels like a thing of the past. I notice that it is better with the older generation. In my parents' neighborhood everyone seems to know each other and looks out for each other. Conversations are had in the street, on the sidewalk and on each other's front porches. Dinners and coffees are shared over tables together. Eye contact is made, it's safe, lovely, and relational. HEALTHY. 

I grew up with a kitchen that was always full of people. Coffee was on and something homemade in the oven. I laugh out loud as I affectionately think of all the fighting that also took place in our kitchen, loud voices, people talking over each other, laughing, tears, and just simply hanging out. Friends, family, and neighbors were always welcome. I understand that not everyone came from that. I understand that we all bring something different to who we are and what we are comfortable with. That being said, I don't even want to focus on our background, gifts, and even comfort level. We can all make an effort. We can all pick up the phone and call. We can check in and follow up with each other. We can extend invitations. We can actually respond to a text or an email. We can RSVP when we are invited to a party or get together. Ignoring people is rude. It's bad manners. And, it hurts. This goes for everyone regardless of communication style. When did we lose this and why do we think it's okay? How can we do better? I am not writing this so we can think of that one person who we know or how we have been hurt, though I know that is what will come up as it has for me. I'm writing so that we can each be personally accountable. I am writing so we can sit back and ponder this. Can we each think of a way, even today, to actually connect with another human being? Can we let someone know that we see and hear them? That we love them? Can we initiate this and not always wait for someone else? Can we be real, vulnerable and authentic with another person? Can we dig out the birthday party invitation and give that person the respect of an RSVP? Respond to an email? Answer someone? It's time to put away excuses before all we have are a human race flailing miserably for something that is entirely doable and something that is GOOD.

Dee M. Kostelyk

Progress Is Better Than No Progress

Lately, I've had to give thought to something that was getting downright on my nerves. It's always been a bit of a button pusher for me, but a recent experience had me taking a closer look.

I'm talking about people who act like their life is put together and they have no problems. Never mind that maybe their life IS in fact put together or that maybe they are just appropriately reserved. It annoys me.

Granted, there are those people who seem to one-up you in a subtly crappy way. Or, others who often give off false humility. Or, others who can hardly breathe for fear that the plaster might crack. And still others who seem to sniff out your vulnerability and then pounce on it. Those people. Ugh. Thank goodness I don't fit into any of those categories...

And when one of those kinds of people happen to ask how you're doing in this dripping wet sad cat kind of way, you mentally slap them, real quick like, not too hard, just a little sting, and tell them you're doing "fine."

Man Dee, what's up with you?

That's what God asked me recently. I was actually getting ready to go somewhere and found myself worked up creating imaginary scenarios in my head based in part on non-fiction, but honestly, a lot of fiction. What was it to me, anyway? For real? Sure, the facade some put on is annoying. When people actually do have a lot put together it can feel annoying as well. I am human after all. It makes me feel less than. That's a no brainer. But, why the intense and powerful feelings? Where was the heat in my face coming from? Why the spontaneous tears? This was when God got gentle and told me to work it through with Him. Key words "with him."

I realized without getting into it too much here, that I had been made to feel like "you poor thing" in the subtlest of ways going back a long time. Maybe "victim" would be a better word but the first description is far more felt. As I began to in essence, peel back the onion, I realized how a recent situation had triggered that response in me. I realized how in this area it was like having an open wound and when anything brushed up against it, ouch. God encouraged me to keep going. It wasn't that I just felt less than. I felt ashamed. Stupid. Dumb. My heart hurt. I felt of no worth. I felt deserving of disdain. Dismissed. More... Invisible. Like I shouldn't exist. Like I should be annihilated FROM. THE. PLANET. 

All this from someone giving off the vibe of or displaying a seemingly put together life? YES. Because it wasn't that person and it's not these people. It's me. It is because it elicited a response from me stemmed from years ago. It touched a hurt place in me not yet healed. But, for God. He pointed this out to me in the time it took to shower, get dressed and put my makeup on. We took the time together to figure some of this out. 

Whenever I feel myself getting heated or overreacting to a situation, it has become a practice for me to figure out what is actually going on. It seldom has to do with the situation itself. We people are funny. We are intricate. But, not too complicated when you start realizing why the 2 + 2 is giving you 4. 

The other day I walked into a resident's room at work. She was throwing a wooden box she had painted in art therapy at the wall. She picked up the pieces and threw those against the wall as well until the whole box was destroyed. I sat and let her finish. She was furious. Angry at her therapist. Angry at life. When all her energy was spent she sat on her bed, put her head in her hands, and cried. She felt that nobody loved or cared about her and that she would be better off dead. I had a good rapport with this resident and so we talked about the patterns with her anger and subsequent sadness and tears. Calm, this resident was quite insightful into her situation. She had grown up with a mom who struggled with severe mental illness and had been in and out of the hospital. That was just a part of her history. 

She told me that she felt she wasn't getting better but I disagreed with her. I told her that the box being slammed against the wall was exactly what recovery looked like. It was not linear. It was not smooth. It was a series of explosions and setbacks and tears and insight. Heated moments figured out. Realizations brought to light. I told her that it's first picking up eight pieces of splintered wood and the next time five, and the next time three and the next time the box would just stay in her hand.

To bring a bit of humor to the situation I said to her "You didn't really like that box much, did you?" Thankfully she smiled and didn't throw the pieces at me. We then walked to the dining hall together for lunch. A somewhat happy conclusion to the previous 30 minutes but just another step in a walk toward more freedom wrought with potholes.

We all have little pieces of immaturity inside of us. We all have wounds yet to be healed. We are alike in that way. We get annoyed, irritated, angry, hurt, jealous, scared, and wounded down deep. As a result we buy into lies that we aren't worth anything or that we would be better off not existing. I believe that Jesus wants to work through that with us. I don't think He cares whether it's seemingly petty or no doubt double barrel serious. It is all legitimate to Him. 

I guess I wanted to share about myself and this resident to give hope. Especially now, when so many of us find ourselves more isolated or alone, it can be hard to sit with our thoughts and negative emotions. But, there are ways to move through and I'm always going to say that the best way is WITH GOD. Pause, because you are worth the time it takes to figure out what is going on.

Getting better, feeling better, and doing better take time and work. It just does. I can honestly say that God worked out some issues for me recently. Not everything is solved. Unfortunately, I will still get annoyed. Lol. But, progress is better than no progress, right? Maybe I will write that again: PROGRESS IS BETTER THAN NO PROGRESS. You are loved!

Boys and Heroes

I love to people watch, most especially small kids playing. I don't think I did enough of that when my own kids were small. You know, the kind of sitting back and watching how they play for the sake of observing who they are as little people. 
A few days ago, I had the opportunity to watch a little blonde-headed boy conquer the world in his mind. I was at the beach and someone had built a makeshift teepee out of long pieces of driftwood. It was big enough for a small kid to walk into and transplant himself into another space and time. 
When I first arrived at the beach and was setting up my chair, I glanced up as he walked by with a piece of driftwood in his hand. Our eyes met and for a moment he appeared sheepish as reality clashed with imagination. It was almost as if he wanted to let me know that he was aware he wasn't carrying a sword.  He couldn't have been more than 6 years old, yet old enough to feel slightly embarrassed at having been "caught." In that instant, he was no longer the warrior, but a boy probably going back to his parents to see if there was something to eat. The 'boy mom' in me thought, 'No, NO, that is one dangerous sharp sword and the people need your kind of bravery! Keep fighting!'
To my delight, he came back a while later and that is when I got to watch in full frame this little dude slay imaginary bad guys and all sorts of terrible beasts. He was talking to himself, throwing pieces of driftwood at the teepee, slamming the teepee with pieces of long driftwood, trying to crack long sticks against a nearby log, and the best was when he would suddenly crouch down and yell out a war cry. He was absolutely oblivious to anything else but the world he had created where he was the brave conqueror of all. 
It was fascinating. I don't know what came over me but I got choked up and silent tears fell down my cheeks as I continued to watch. For one, he reminded me of my oldest son who used to play in a similar way. He could be in his own world for hours and I always thought how healthy that was. And, I had an ache in my heart as I missed him as a little boy. Time goes by too quickly for a mom. 
I also had a pang in my heart for this little warrior and all the other little boy warriors. For this drive, need, and innate sense of self would eventually do battle with a lying thief. The earlier flash of embarrassment this boy showed when our eyes met, I knew would eventually become genuine insecurity and fear about his role as a man. He would wrestle with whether or not he could still step into adventure, be the beast slayer, and the conqueror people looked up to. I wanted to go up to this little invincible warrior, look him in the eyes, hand him his sword, place my hand on his heart, and say, "Don't lose this. You are mighty. You are brave. You will fall and fall hard, many times. You will be bloody and busted up. You will be parched in every sense. The fight will ooze out of you. You will question your capability. It will be then, as you look at the ground - the mud and dust, and feel the pressure on your chest and the onslaught of arrows to your mind, that the mighty will come alive again; that the slayer will rise and your feet will feel the ground. You will stand. It will be in those moments between utter defeat and victorious knowing, where your real warrior self will be made and realized. You are a son of God and created in His image. Take your rightful place." That would probably be about the time he would look at me like I lost my mind, go back to his parents, eat his peanut butter and jelly, and wonder about the weird woman who called him a warrior. But, so be it. 
That little guy gave me immense delight as I sat on the beach and watched him. And wouldn't you know, the next night I was sitting on a different beach watching a group of about twelve (maybe) 18 year old guys play football. At first I inwardly cringed as I was in the mood for peace and a good sunset as I sipped my wine and read my book. But, I soon began to watch them in a way I hoped went unnoticed. (Hey, it's the weird woman again).
I quickly could see who the leader was. He had longer hair, was more muscular than the other guys, and was calling the shots. With the exception of one smaller kid sitting on the sidelines, they all had their shirts off. I have to say, what played out before me surprised and kind of warmed my heart. I guess I thought I would see a sort of king of the mountain, underhanded roughness, and a lot of leveling. But, the longer I watched the more I sensed that these were a group of guys who knew each other well. They were a team.
The boy on the sidelines seemed content. He smiled and laughed as the game progressed and from time to time different guys would call out to him and conversation would be exchanged. There were more F bombs dropped during that hour than what I've heard in the last month as loud proclamations were made with pride of how various body parts were hurting. At one point I heard one of the guys say that he needed to call his mom because she probably didn't know he was at the beach. Another guy said how he didn't want to go home because his dad was an alcoholic and I couldn't hear what he said about his mom. Another chimed in about his own home situation. This was between plays as a bunch of them sat in the water out of breath. This is how guys seem to do it. Not much eye contact and while playing - there for each other but not too obvious about it. Bonding, nonetheless.
I spend a lot of time with women and girls. I grew up with two sisters and I work in a field that is probably 85% female. Our residents are female as well as most of my coworkers. I understand women. I love women. I am very pro women.
But, I also have a heart for men and appreciate the strength they offer and the unique struggles they face. My experience with the little boy and the young men on the beach inspired me to write, today. I suppose this could take off into a whole other topic and a new blog, but that's not my purpose this morning. I am certainly no expert but I do believe the heart of a boy is to be a hero and the heart of a man is to be one as well. And, females? They long for that hero whether it be a friend, brother, dad, uncle, grandpa, or especially spouse. Never mind that it is 2020. The heart of things DOESN'T change though the appearance of it might. Don't let any sort of women's movement fool you. Girls want and need a male hero(s).
But, before I lose my focus and get off topic, I want to get back to boys and heroes. Satan, the lying thief, coward, and deceiver of the world has intentionally slapped that word around so it has either become unattainable so why bother or it's cheapened into fast cars, power and money - whoever can shove the hardest. In it's purest form, go back to the blonde headed boy with the driftwood sword. He was born for the moment. He used what he had. He protected and saved. When he couldn't break the stick against the log, he beat it over and over until it cracked. But, and get this, when he couldn't get it to break he threw it to the side and found another one. He knew when to let go and felt no defeat in it. Heroes let go. They don't always win. They just find another stick.
The young guys on the makeshift football field knew teamwork and camaraderie. The skinny boy on the sidelines mattered as much as their muscular leader. One boy's heartache about his home life became all their heartache. One team's touchdown didn't diminish the other team's lack of one. Hard wrestling in the sand only gave excuse to show affection under the guise of ass kicking. An enemy wouldn't have stood a chance walking on to that field. Opposing teams would have become one team in a heartbeat.
Heroes.
I was overwhelmed pondering those different scenes on the beach. Both touched me deeply. The ways of God are usually contrary to the ways of the world. The ways of God don't demean, belittle, and steal life. He doesn't hit below the belt. Our enemy does. 
God defines us. Period. 
Heroes are made in the heart and mind when the face smacks the dirt and a helping hand is extended by another with mud on his face. But, this making works best with the knowing and experiencing first hand the ABBA FATHER'S love; for His love has the power to make every man a hero.

Written by,

Dee M. Kostelyk