Green Eyes.

3/17/18: Green eyes. 🍀

I’m the only one in my family with green and color changing eyes.

Throughout the years I noted that even people that married into our family had blue eyes. I was always jealous of blue eyes. I wanted them so badly. The color and light in someone’s eyes was, and still is, the first thing I notice about a person. I would literally cry over not having blue eyes as a kid. I remember asking my mom at one time why I didn’t have blue eyes. Being adopted was within my realm of reasoning. I went fishing for answers, “Mom, do you have something to tell me? I don’t look like anybody in this family.”

She told me how the difference made me unique and special. She always knew I was special, not like the rest. With a typical biased mom answer I was not satisfied.

I originally had blue eyes, strictly blue, as a child up until grade school. Then blue began morphing to green, and hazel, and dancing in between.

I felt alienated, different, without the inclusion of the similar trait of the rest of my family. But Mom was right, like so many times moms are, though at times we may hate to admit it. I wanted to be accepted, and thought my appearance and outward characteristics had something or everything to do with it.

But that was a lie.

I hadn’t accepted myself inwardly or externally, and that was preventing me from seeing all the acceptance I had already received from my family, without doing anything to earn it. The blessings I possessed presently were hidden from me until I accepted me. But the thing about being blind is that you can’t see, and you don’t know any better. Someone could tell you and describe what something looks like, but it’s not the same as you seeing it for yourself.

Being Told Versus Believing

When I struggled with a severe eating disorder for years, I remember this one time my boyfriend at the time screamed at me, “YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!” in his attempt to outmatch the malicious disorder that was killing me in front of his eyes. I stood there numb, in a malnourished stupor that slays most senses that it can’t afford to spend energy on. Providing only the most vital functioning organs support, emotions don’t make the cut. I was most times emotionally and mentally unavailable. That was my goal, anyway, at the time. I repeat, I was numb.

Nothing would change anything until I agreed inwardly and I could see. I had to want to see. I had to believe. Boyfriend couldn’t make me, he couldn’t choose for me, no matter how loud he screamed. He couldn’t force me. I had to decide and choose to believe the truth. I had to hold everything I believed up until that point in question and at arm’s length in exchange. That is a scary place. But you and I, dear, are made to be brave.

I thought my difference made me less valuable, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Generally speaking, the more rare an item is, the more costly it is. I had it backwards, and under the guise of false humility, I swore self-confidence off, confusing it with being proud. By not accepting myself, I was esteeming my difference over my inclusion to my clan. I was denying the truth of who I really am.

There came a point in my life where I would do anything to conform, searching for this acceptance I felt I had yet to earn. I mean, ANYTHING. I was foolish. Look, it matters what you’re believing and thinking, for your behaviors will follow. I was thinking conformity would mean my acceptance, and I would be loved. I was trying to get in a room I was already in, essentially.

There came a time when I started embracing the things that made me stand out. My height, my long legs, my laugh, my tendency to out-laugh everyone at my own jokes, my freckles, my desire to wear bold lipstick like a boss, and my color changing eyes became pillars of my person. I started wearing heels.

Every. Single. Day.

I refused to wear them before, embarrassed of my height. So I made it a point to make up for lost time, and even if was just hanging around or wearing lounge clothes, I’d slip on wedges or pumps and stand tall. I was worried about guys not wanting to date me, with the height thing. I think I finally got angry. I got angry at men, so that helped at the time. I realized love wasn’t defined by a man by my side, and my value wasn’t determined by the acceptance of others. I didn’t want to be like the crowd anymore.

So I shoved the people pleasing out the door and said, “No more.” I didn’t care if I was deemed as “different,” “awkward,” or “weird.” I found that in most cases, people’s own insecurities show up as criticism of others anyway. The biggest bullies are riddled with insecurities and rejection. Maybe we can heal them through the display of safety in our security and continued self-acceptance.

A real secure person doesn’t need to belittle another to elevate themselves. They’re already standing, head held high, and use their height to bring others up and see rightly. And for me, I found that it’s through eyes that are green.

So walk bold and embrace you. No one else can do it for you.

Yeah, I think that’s everything for today. Frankly, I shouldn’t be typing or staring at any screen with this severe concussion from a car accident I was in this week, but I had to get just let words unravel today. I’ve been cramped up and couldn’t wait. Now on to that no screen life for another 18-24 hours. It’s seriously been nice.✌🏼 Peace, cyber world, and Happy St. Patty’s Day.


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