Sticks and stones may break my bones…

… but words will always hurt me.

Let me get to the crux of the matter.  There are days that I can barely lift my head because I feel like I am worthless in this world.  No amount of bags I make, things I create, kisses I give my child can change that. Often, I am crippled by the fear of newness and change, longing to remain behind the walls I have put -both literally and mentally- between myself and the world.

Some days I believe I am an amazing writer and that people like to read what I passionately and lovingly place on (digital) paper.
Some days I believe that I am talented with my artistic endeavors.
Some days I believe that I am beautiful with a nice outfit and a fixed up face.
Some days I believe that I am highly intelligent.

Then there are the “damn it all” days where a little voice tells me that nothing is true. “April, you’re past your “beautiful” years. You had them in college.  They are gone now.  There are much better writers than you. Writers that create stories that make you want to be their best friend in an instant. Writers that create beautiful tapestries with their words.  April, you are no longer in college.  There are much smarter people that you.  You are not intelligent.  If you were, you’d have a life. April, while you are creative, you create nothing new.  Face it, you are average. Forgettable. ”

I am not saying this because I want you to pity me.  I am saying it because these are the words that cause tears to fall from my eyes and roll down my cheeks.  These are the words that “win” in my mind. These are the words that cut me to my soul and render me speechless.

Tonight I spoke to my brother, asking him to help me lose weight by calling me every morning to motivate me to work out. He encouraged me to go back to school to take a class or two and work on my masters.

“You’re smart enough,” he said.  “I know that last church messed you up, but if you quit striving, you die.”

I told him that we needed to focus on Todd getting a degree, not me.

“But April, you and Todd are made for each other. Both of you draw people to you without trying. Look at these bags and things. You’re not even trying to create a business, and yet you are selling bags.”

I told him that what “I would love to do, more than anything is to write and blog and do creative stuff for the rest of my life.”

“Then do it,” he said.  “Who cares if you make another dollar off of it? You love it, right? So if it takes you sixty dollars to make and you sell it for sixty dollars, would you never make another one? If you love it, do it.  I’m just fortunate that I make money doing what I love, but I would do it even if I didn’t make money.  If I die without a dollar to my name, and not a dollar in debt, then I’ve lived a successful life. If you stop striving, you die. You can do more than you give yourself credit for.”

My brother, when did you become so much smarter than me?

Why do I allow the words of those who do not love me to affect me more than the words of those that do? Most of the most damaging words I cling to were spoken by people who do not think a single thought about me during their daily lives.  Quickly, I forget the professors, family, friends, ministers, etc who told me that they thought I held promise. Promise.

Promise.

“Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”