Camouflage is a feminine colour
Bravely wear your camouflage or it will wear you
Here lies a fashionable lady…. For many years that was the gravestone marker I aspired to. My fashionista brand was that a stylish outfit first begins with a great pair of shoes. My shoes were conversation starters, they were funky, colourful, and often unique; shoes have always helped me to connect with people. It was not just through my shoes I was seeking admiration. Frankly, I put a lot of time and energy into my outward appearances, always trying to impress others. This was especially evident in how I filled the pages of a photo album, I always made sure to select pictures that made me look the best. These albums, along with my material possessions, reflected that I was a woman who thought I had everything. I found that rather than truly savouring the precious moments of my life, I sought to capture them in a flawless ensemble camouflaged with a brilliant smile. My life looked picture-perfect, but I knew I was living a duplicitous life. To escape from my undealt with pain and failures, I created fake worlds and personas to hide within. Ultimately my heart became locked behind an impenetrable fortress of secrets and lies.
Like you- like everyone, I have a unique journey that has led me to this point in my life. There are many, many, many stories to share but for now I will simply start with the night that I purposefully chose to harden my heart.
I have very few memories from my childhood, but this day at age 11, I remember vividly. My mother had returned home from another stay in the Regina psychiatric ward and my responsibility now that she was home, was to sleep with my mom to keep her safe. That night, when I opened my eyes, PANIC, I was alone in the dark. “Oh no!” my mind screamed, I had fallen asleep. I frantically leapt out of bed and raced around the house, looking for my mom everywhere. We had just recently moved into a two story duplex to be closer to medical care for my mom, and as I ran around I called out for her, but there was no answer.
I found her in the furnace room….
My mom was hanging from the ceiling with one of my Dad’s neckties wound tightly around her neck. I remember her face was a purplish hue, with every vein in her face visibly popping out and spidering to the edges of her cheeks. Her body, completely naked was still swinging from side to side. I do not remember if I ran to my Dad for help or if he just responded to my screaming. He took over control of the situation at that point. I did not cry or break down as one might expect a young girl to do. I was eerily calm from repeated experience with her suicide attempts, although this was the first time I was visibly involved in the situation. No one held me or comforted me that night. I just numbly, un-empathetically watched from a distance.
My mother was not successful in taking her own life that night. Yet, the guilt nevertheless was pounding in my chest, fueled by the rationalization (ration-a-LIE-zation), “How unlovable must I be if my own mother could not love me.” As I watched, men now forcibly wrap my violently, thrashing mother into a crisp white straight jacket. She was placed in the back of a waiting ambulance and they drove her away.
As an 11-year-old little girl, I immediately believed that lie which whispered in my heart in the dark silence of the night that followed such a chaotic storm in our furnace room. It was that lie, that locked up my heart and stole the key, like an isolated prisoner forgotten and abandoned, my heart began to harden.
My mother never again returned home to be a part of our family after that night. I do not remember exactly when, maybe it was while I watched that ambulance drive away or perhaps later, during one of the thousands of times this image has re-played in my mind over the years that followed… regardless, that night resulted in a solemn vow to myself that I would never again accept any weakness or failure in my life.
With that vow always top of mind, I became very driven and disciplined. I sought power through academic achievements and found professional fulfilment by climbing the ladder of corporate success. This quest for perfection became the over-riding mantra for my life. I believed that if I held to the vow, I was never at risk of being vulnerable, my heart could remain cold and emotionless, and no one would ever be able to hurt me like that again.
The reality is that hurting people – hurt others. My vow, my lie, was just that, rather than heal, I was hurting more than ever. It will take years to heal the pain and suffering that my lies and betrayals have caused to those I love most dearly and the many other innocent souls affected by the ripple effects of my sinful behaviors.
For so many years, I camouflaged my deep emotional hurts, my guilt, and my shame; I hid them behind masks of strength and control, utilizing a blame game. The emptiness I felt inside was always someone else’s fault, never owning up to the fact that the common denominator in all my unhappiness was the ugly condition of my own heart. A hardened heart long ago locked away and forgotten, now held captive behind walls of steel that I continually forged anew by repeating that fiery lie, “I was unlovable.”
One day it happened, my real world and my false world crashed head long into each other turning my life into a hell-like war zone. My marital infidelity exposed by a spark of my conscience, maybe the only glimmer I had left…., I ended the affair.
Now the years of lies and deceptions began igniting new fires and setting off explosions of numerous and varied proportions. Once the smoke cleared, it felt like there were broken hearts scattered all over the battlefield, pieces of these broken hearts littered the landscape as far as the eye could see. I found myself unable to cope with the brokenness, not only mine, but the brokenness of all those who were in my path of self destruction.
I did not eat or sleep for weeks, crying out continually in regret and not knowing how to manage the waves of emotion that were threatening to drown me. Like my mom who I so harshly judged years earlier, I now found myself battling with the same demon of suicide, a foul lying beast, feeding me the belief that I was no longer worthy of living and giving me a strong desire to take my own life. It was in this pit of suicidal despair, at my very lowest point; a glimmer of light and hope shown forth and I received forgiveness, a forgiveness found only at the foot of the cross of Jesus Chirst. He didn’t need to find the key that had locked away my heart so many years ago. Jesus my savior, smashed down the door to my self-built prison and rescued my heart with His amazing grace, mercy and love.
Unconditional love…. Unconditional love…. What a concept, and for the first time in my life, I understood this gift of unconditional love which can be found only in Christ, and through it, I am conquering my hardness, my fear, my guilt, and my shame. I am learning new things daily and now I can also concentrate my full attention to rebuilding my relationships with my family, taking it one day and one step at a time.
I am embarking on a new journey, living free to be me and knowing I am not alone. My God gently and lovingly whispers daily in my ear; “Your life is valuable and worth living for Me, there is a purpose in your past.” These whispers are moving me beyond a state of crippling condemnation to a place of conviction – to become a world changer not a worldly chaser. It is this conviction that has inspired me to start working on a new kind of photo album (aka blog posts).
In this new album, it’s not about my best profile, but rather in these shared images, I am fully on display for all to see. This will include at times my big hairy warts, my scars, my tears, my joys and yes, even my failures.
My daughter once told me that taking a perfect selfie is all about great lighting. I now seek the perfect light of God’s word for all my daily selfies, both shared and not. By being the real me, I hope to inspire other women to come together in the fight against the lies that we women are often held captive by and seek to destroy our lives and families.
For this combat mission, my husband (a genuine hero) bought me these fabulous camouflage high heel pumps. A passion for fashion remains a part of who I am. Only now I know that I can embrace it as a tool to express my truth faith in Jesus to the world, and not simply a misguided attempt to define my worth. I have changed how I wear my camouflage; it’s no longer a fear-filled disguise over my hardened heart. Instead, I trumpet that camouflage is a feminine colour! It is a flattering hue for every complexion, in style for every season of life and to be bravely worn as a sign of victory over the battlefield of our minds.
As I begin this new writing adventure as GICorinna, I invite you to come along on my quest to be a world changer. My hope is that by following the steps of my camo shoes, sharing photo by photo, you too may engage and join in on the conversation.
Free2Bme,
GICorinna
