“When the people we love or with whom we have a deep connection stop caring, stop paying attention, stop investing, and stop fighting for the relationship, trust begins to slip away and hurt starts seeping in.”

鈥擝ren茅 Brown, Daring Greatly

About a year ago, a good friend named in me a fighter.

He said, “Kelsey, you are a fighter!”

In all my time on this earth, I had never been called a fighter before this unassuming moment, but as I look back on the narrative of my life, my friend saw something in me I wasn’t able to see in myself: a fighter. He was right. I am a fighter.

I have fought for myself and my sacred story. I have fought for the shame that seems impossible to beat, and the shame I see others carry. I have fought for my faith. I have fought for truth. I have fought when most other people would have given up.

I am a fighter. My war-torn heart tells of great battles fought, and my scars prove them.

There aren’t a whole lot of fighters left in this world. We’re an anomaly, a rare breed, so I pride myself on being a fighter, a warrior. I am proud of those battle scars and the lessons I have learned from fighting through 鈥榯il the end. I boast of both my victories and losses, because each tells an epic story.

Yes, I am a proud warrior, yet what happens to the fighter when there’s nothing left to fight for? What happens when the battle is over?

There is a particular battle that comes to mind, and this battle was particularly brutal. Each side wounded the other, and these wounds pierced through to the deepest parts of our hearts. There was no victor, but a fatal loss for both. The battle had ended and I found myself hurting, regretful, and grievous. Time would be the only healing balm, but some wounds may never heal.

Have you ever lost a loved one in a battle like this?

The tragedy of such loss is overwhelming and devastating. I was heartbroken as I mourned the end of a once beautiful friendship, a relationship with mutuality, grace, compassion, and loyalty. We saw each other’s goodness and brokenness, and we stuck around…until we didn’t.

As the smoke cleared and time granted me healing and clarity, something shifted in my heart. My broken heart began to repair, and the painful hurt I felt began to lessen. Anger dissolved into compassion and resentment turned into love. I began to see something beautiful in the brokenness. Grace overwhelmed me and I was given the gift of seeing goodness, both in myself and in my friend.

As I write this today, my wounds have yet to fully heal and I am still nursing this broken heart of mine. But, there is a little fight left in me. There’s something in me that’s telling me to stay, to be still, and to wait.

The charred battlefield has cleared, yet I am still here. I haven’t gone anywhere.

I am left with a choice. I can succumb to the pain of a battle lost. I can walk away and pretend this friendship was meaningless, all the while hardening my heart as a futile way of protecting myself from future damage and loss. I would be completely justified in letting go and moving on, casting aside a meaningful relationship.

I can choose to give up.

Or, I can stay. I can choose to fight. I can advocate for the goodness I see in myself and my friend, fighting shame on behalf of us both. I can choose to see this temporary brokenness as a process and hope for beauty to be born from the dust of destruction. I can choose to say, “You are still worth the fight! You are worth sticking around for. However long it takes, I am here. I am waiting.”

I can choose to love鈥擫ove is patient. Love always protects. Love always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.

Is this foolish? Is it unwise for me to continue the fight? Is loving the other a waste of my time and energy? Are my prayers futile?

Maybe? Yet, maybe I am being called to love with fearless abandon, to risk greatly, and to be vulnerable? Maybe this love is meant to be a catalyst for something impossible? Maybe fighting for the other is bigger than me? Maybe loving the other looks differently than I ever imagined? Maybe, just maybe, I am being called to be a fool?

Maybe loving the other looks differently than I ever imagined?

“As long as we are on earth, the love that unites us will bring us suffering by our very contact with one another, because this love is the resetting of a Body of broken bones.”

鈥擳homas Merton

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鈥淗atred stirs up conflict, but love covers over all wrongs.鈥� 鈥擯roverbs 10:12

Behind my kind eyes, smiling face, friendly attitude, and outgoing spirit is the capacity to say the cruelest, most hurtful things to another person. I have belittled, name called, and hurt the most beloved people in my life. Over the past few months, as I work through my own brokenness, I have come to realize how hurtful I can be, and I鈥檓 beginning the process of asking for forgiveness, especially of myself.

The old adage is right: 鈥淲e hurt the ones we love the most.鈥� Yet, why? Why are we so mean?

Psychologists would answer that our capacity to be mean to others stems from our capacity to be mean to ourselves. If we call someone a hurtful name, chances are we鈥檝e spoken worse things to ourselves. Meanness comes from somewhere, it鈥檚 a learned character trait, and it鈥檚 often misguided and directed toward the ones we love the most, the ones who we know love us back. Meanness is a symptom for lack of love鈥攚hether we were unloved as children, cast aside on the playground or bullied at school, or fail to have the capacity to love ourselves as adults. We learn to be mean from the people we surround ourselves with, but our meanness toward others bubbles up from the meanness we speak to ourselves.

Theologians would argue that meanness comes from sin. It鈥檚 an unfortunate consequence of the fall in the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve ate some fruit and now we all have the capacity to be mean to each other. In fact, Adam was the first to blame Eve: 鈥淭he man said, 鈥楾he woman you put here with me鈥攕he gave me some fruit from the tree, and I ate it鈥欌�� (Genesis 3:12). I wouldn鈥檛 necessarily accuse Adam of being mean, but I would definitely put blame in that category.

Meanness sprouts resentment and bitterness, not only toward people we love, but鈥攅specially鈥攖oward ourselves, which can deter us from our relationship with God. Meanness is often a battle within one鈥檚 inner world, as opposed to an external conflict with another. Being mean to a friend, partner, or spouse comes from an internal war within one鈥檚 self. Yet, the question I ask is this:

If we are at war with ourselves, is there room for the Spirit to reside?

Being mean creates a rift in relationship. Meanness causes a schism between you and your loved one, but it also causes a schism between you and God. I think this is why we see that much of Scripture speaks into how we should approach others and how we should see ourselves. (See Colossians 1:22, Psalm 129:14, Proverbs 15:1, Ephesians 4:32, Song of Solomon 6:3, John 13:34-35, and Matthew 5:44鈥攋ust to name a few.)

Meanness is both a psychological and a spiritual issue. Meanness lies at the jagged intersection of theology and psychology, and it鈥檚 here where I find myself struggling with moving forward in kindness鈥攖oward others and especially toward myself.

My experiences with bouts of meanness come directly from shame. I mess up, I make a mistake, and immediately an onslaught of shame rises in me, like boiling water. I can physically feel my face get hot and all I want to do is hide. Shame is the worst feeling in the world, and I will go out of my way to rid myself of this wretched emotion. So I throw it on someone else. I can鈥檛 bear my own shame, so I cast it onto someone else in the form of meanness and I walk away. However, the shame always comes back, and it often comes back with a vengeance as I recall the hurtful words I spoke earlier to my beloved. Soon, I鈥檓 doubled over with shame and I鈥檓 stuck.

My meanness isn鈥檛 simply being a bully because I feel unloved. Yes, this definitely has something to do with it, but it鈥檚 the perfect storm of feeling unloved, ashamed, and afraid that I鈥檓 鈥渢oo much鈥� for the ones I care for the most. If I were to honestly communicate my feelings of shame and inadequacy to those I love, would they stick around? If they only knew, would they be willing to stay? Unfortunately, my narrative is dotted with people who have left, so I find myself taking the opportunity to push others away with meanness, rather than risk rejection yet again. I crave consistent relationship with another, yet I push away in fear. It鈥檚 the unfortunate juxtaposition of, 鈥淲ill you please come closer?鈥� and 鈥淭oo close! Get away from me!鈥�

Why are we so mean? Everyone has their own story, but I鈥檇 bet yours is not much different from mine.

I find myself curious about love. If meanness stems from an internal bully who torments us in our brokenness, what would it look like if we began to love the bully, to love ourselves?

If we learn to love ourselves, we may be able to love others in return.

鈥淒ear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.鈥� 鈥�1 John 4:7 (NIV)

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Over the past few months, I have been invited to step into the wilderness…alone.

This barren land is a place of searching and longing. It’s a place where the deepest and darkest traumas of my past, the tragic stories that have been carefully hidden for decades, are uncovered and seen. This wilderness is a place where God isn’t just the One who extended the invitation, but the One who has never left my side.

There is something so beautifully tragic about journeying in the wilderness. Death comes before life in this place.

When I first began this journey, I imagined myself in the desert. I imagined rolling hills of the hottest, driest sand stretching for miles and miles, with no sign of an oasis. The dusty air filled my lungs and there were moments when I could not take another breath. Uncovering my past was excruciating. The pain blinded and bound me, and I was unable to move, unable to take another step. There was too much hurt, too much harm, and too many wounds that were being excavated from the depths of my heart, and I could go no further.

God was nowhere to be seen, yet I could hear a reassuring voice in the distance鈥�”Keep going, my daughter. I am here. I am working.”

As my journey continues, my capacity to hold these painful moments has grown. The tragic stories that had never been spoken of before have now been told and retold countless times, making them easier to hold. I now imagine myself in the luscious forests of the Pacific Northwest. Instead of trekking on the dry, hot, desert sand that blistered my feet and dried up my lungs, I now walk on the soft, mossy floor of the most green, life-filled forest I could ever imagine. The trees overhead are a canopy for my soul, offering comfort and protection. The soft rain sprinkles overhead like a faucet of life as blessings are poured over my wounded heart.

In this wilderness, I am still alone, yet God is everywhere. God is walking beside me, holding my hand and wooing my heart, leading me to a place of healing鈥�”Keep going, my daughter. I am here. I am still working.”

“God is walking beside me, holding my hand and wooing my heart, leading me to a place of healing.”

I am terrified of the work I am doing because it is changing everything. This work, this journey in the wilderness, is altering the very fabric of my existence. Everything I thought I knew about myself has been shattered. Everything I thought I knew about my family has been crushed. Everything I thought I knew about God has shifted.

There are parts of me that are dying, but death must occur for new life to spring forth. These dying parts are the unseen places the enemy has been hiding, slowly destroying me, lying to me, and stealing me away. These deep crevices were once created to protect my heart, yet they are no longer needed and are instead being used against me. Death must occur, yet death is still death.

Death is agonizing. Death is violent. Death is not quick. Death is not easy.

On my journey in the wilderness, I have come to experience death in a way no man or woman should endure, however I have also experienced the most abundant life I have ever lived. I have challenged the enemy’s lies. I have cast out the enemy’s words. I have been given a new name and a strong voice, and I am becoming the woman I was intended to be before Creation. I am brave. I am courageous. I am worth this fight. I am beautiful and strong, and lovingly, thoughtfully, and intentionally created by a mighty King.

I continue my walk in the wilderness, across the mossy floor of the forest, and along with the sprinkling rain overhead, the birds chirping in the trees, and the sound of my heart beating, I continue to hear, “Keep going, my daughter. I am here. I am working.”

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