Bring It

Facebook has the 'memories' feature where it shows you things posted on this same day throughout the years. Sometimes this is a fun app, other days it can be a bit painful, and on days like today, some memories prove powerful.
One of the photos that showed in my memories feed was this one from 7 years ago.

When I saw it, I gasped. I don't know this person. Obviously, it's me, however I don't recognize me in her at all. It's a hard photo to look at- So much was gong on under the surface- and a lot of it I only felt the negative energy from- but I had no idea what was truly happening in my life. No tangible evidence had been uncovered to release me into the awareness that the crazy I was feeling wasn't me at all... That would come a couple of years later. If you had asked me how I was at this time, I would have told you that life was challenging, but I was happy. I'm not sure that I believed that, or wanted so badly for it to be true that it became my mantra. And when life was painful- I bowed to my conditioning and believed I was the problem.

I believe I was depressed, and broken, and completely lost. I felt like a total failure as a mother, and my marriage simply existed; it didn't have the beauty, safety, fulfillment or growth I'd always assumed I'd experience. I had no idea who I was, how strong I could be, nor how wildly capable. I'd bought into the lie that I was crazy, incompetent, 'too much', inadequate, and a nuisance. What kills me the most though, is that I absorbed all of that- and began to believe it. And it shows. My eyes are tired and sad, I'm heavy, I look timid, and I only remember many weeks and months of survival and simply getting through one grey day after another.

This weekend is my 40th birthday. It's a strange thought, as I don't feel what I thought 40 would feel like- and yet, I'm also aware that in more recent years, 40 has become a poster child of renewal, rebirth, authenticity, and health- and if that is what 40 means now, then I welcome it with arms open wide. Some friends and I talked about turning 40 when we were in our late 20s and early 30s. We would talk about how we wanted to be better at 40 than we were at 25- and I can honestly say..... I did it. When I look at this recent photo- I see peace.

 Acceptance. A woman who knows her worth and just how incredibly strong and competent she truly is. I see a woman who recognizes places in her that need growth, and yet celebrates places where she has busted out of cages of expectations to prove to herself and her children that she can do anything she puts her mind to. I see freedom. A warrior who has taken the stones life threw at her face and instead stacked them under her feet. I see someone who no longer fears what others say because she knows her heart and her value and what she has to offer the world. I see a woman who rests knowing she is truly, fully loved by her God... no longer shrouded in shame from self-inflicted condemnation. I see life. I'm proud of this girl. I'm amazed by her. Sometimes I sit back and marvel at how far I've come and the ways in which I've grown and risen to each occasion. So I've decided not to fear this culturally labeled 'milestone birthday', instead, I'm going to grab 40 by the horns and make 25 look on with jealousy.

Verdict? Not Guilty

If we are willing to listen, life is full of moments to teach us more about ourselves, more about the world around us, and hopefully even give us moments of revelation that can change our futures. 

I was honored with the opportunity to photograph a funeral for a fire chief in our area.  He was a Navy veteran, a beloved husband, father to two girls, and both a career and volunteer fireman. He poured his life out in service to others, and watching the honors unfold to remember him was an experience I won't quickly forget.
Funerals are one of my favorite things to photograph. As someone who loves when people connect in genuine, raw places, I have found funerals to be a place of intimate connection, and tender emotions, and gracious handling of the hearts of others.  While there is always pain involved, there is always much beauty too.  I love watching how the families are cared for, and how gracefully the lost one is respected.
Visitation for the funeral was the night before the funeral services. I had been invited to go and photograph it by the man who had hired me.   He hadn't given me any specifics, and I slipped carefully through the crowds to get images I hoped would touch the family for years to come. At one point I wedged into a back corner and grabbed some shots of friends honoring this great man at the side of his casket.  There were parts of the gleaming wood in my shots, but not any of the man resting inside.  I walked out into the lobby to catch my breath and was stopped by another photographer.  He was aggressive and prying and asked me questions from who I was, to who had hired me, and what kinds of shots I was taking.  He made sure to let me know how important he was and that his images taken on behalf of the Navy would be used for public consumption as well as being placed in our local paper. He told me to be sure to stay out of his shots the next day and reminded me again of his importatance.  I was completely bewildered and felt insignificant.  He then told me the family had told him no shots of the casket.  My face fell and my heart sank.  I mumbled that I had already taken some shots and that I never meant to offend anyone.  He told me to delete them.  He walked me through the very simple and elementary process of deleting off of my camera- as though I had no idea what I was doing.  I stood there dumbfounded and concerned I had overstepped my boundaries.  I managed to get away from him, but his prying and aggression with me had deflated my confidence and I wandered around the funeral home in a fog, worried I had somehow committed an unpardonable sin during an evening that was both intimate and precious.

When I climbed back into my car, now a trembling bundle of nerves, the man who had hired me (but who had to leave prior to my arriving at the visitation) texted to ensure I was ok. I texted back worriedly that I had been approached by the Naval photographer who told me to stay out of his shots, and told me to delete all of my casket images per the desire of the family.  The man who hired me to be there (who was a close personal friend of the family) simply texted back- They knew you would be there Heather.  Assurance. Importance. Inclusion. His simple words reminded me I had been sent there with the most important job- to work for the family.

The next morning I arrived early.  I began my work, with the frustrating nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I was somehow not good enough, or my work would be offensive.  Eventually the man who hired me found me and hugged me tightly to tell me how much my presence and my work meant to everyone. My guilt and shame was palpable and gnawing and so tumbled out as I told him how concerned I was about offending the family. He quickly put my fears to rest.  The aggressive photographer came up to the two of us, interrupting our conversation rudely, and began his barrage of questions to my friend.  My friend responded to him firmly but kindly and let him know that I was there to work on behalf of the family and could do whatever I pleased. And, to kindly stay out of my way.  I was elated.  I had been thinking since the night before that the family's desires trumped the Navy's guidelines any day, but I hadn't been bold enough to say it out loud.

A couple of days ago, it hit me.  Because of the way I was treated in my marriage, I have been conditioned to always take the posture of guilt and shame.  I had been approached by a man who had no business telling me how to do my job, and yet my immediate response to his out-of-line correction had been guilt.  My heart was grieved to realize that I have been so carefully trained to always take the blame that it is second nature in most every place in my life.  I had nothing to feel guilty about, nothing to apologize for, and yet I took on his annoyance, his threatened posture, and absorbed it into my heart as anxiety and worry and shame.  What an awful realization. How many times have I taken direct hits from poisonous arrows never meant for my heart because I've been trained that by my mere existence I am guilty?! How many times have I sat in unnecessary worry and anxiety because I didn't stand up for myself and speak out against the circumstances that had nothing to do with Heather?  How much time has been wasted in damaging shame because I took on the concerns of others when I had no business picking them up and packing them onto my back? My heart is torn at this realization, and yet I'm so thankful for the burst of clarity that pierced my heart the other day. I will be careful going forward to pass those feelings of guilt and shame through wisdom first before I choose to add them onto my own burden. I have so far to go in my healing process, and yet I'm so very grateful for the clarity that comes and brings with it lessons that can change my future.