Terrified: A Blog on Dating

Terrified.

That’s how I feel when I sit down to write this. It’s been well over a year since I published a blog, mostly because my writing is an overflow of what I’m learning—and what I’ve been learning has seemed far too vulnerable to share. Because it revolves around dating.

I chose not to date for the majority of my life for a variety of reasons: I was too busy, it was scary, no one seemed interested in me…and mostly, because I hated vulnerability. It was vulnerable to say yes to dating someone, even more vulnerable to ask someone out. 

Yet after a few years of therapy and a truly supportive group of friends, I decided to try a dating app, which led me to Josh. Two years later, Josh and I are still together, and dating has taught me more than I imagined about God, about myself, and about others. Vulnerable as it may be, I hope to write about the moments that have changed me most—starting here.

It had been a long day, and I was overwhelmed by emotions. I had spent the previous two days wondering about the relationship, worrying I was making the wrong decision, and paralyzed by the mere concept of a long-term relationship. When I make plans, I always have a plan B and plan C—I always have a way out, an escape hatch, if you will. I also tend not to share my concerns or worries with others because firstly, they’re often absurd worst case scenarios, and secondly, to admit my fears is to admit weakness. And as we all know, that’s not my strong point. 

It turns out that this kind of thinking does not lend itself well to dating; in fact, it produces a huge amount of anxiety and will land you on your boyfriend’s futon, crying and covered in snot, refusing to hold a conversation and repeating, “It’s fine,” over and over.

This is why one of the things I appreciate most about Josh is his willingness to face difficult things head on. When I lay there on the futon, I repeatedly turned my head away from his, trying to hide my tears. 

He knelt on the floor by my side and gently—but firmly—put his hands on my face and turned me so I was facing him. 

He broke through my desire to stay hidden, to live in the facade I had created where tears meant weakness, where denial of weakness meant it didn’t exist.

When he turned my face and I looked into his eyes, all my fear and my shame were met with concern and with kindness. Instinct told me to pull away, but each time I did, he gently turned me back toward him so he could look me in the eyes. Eventually, he held my face in place so I could not turn—and finally, when the shame was gone (but the tears and snot were not), I didn’t want to look away at all.

Josh isn’t perfect—actually, this whole story occurred in the middle of a fight—but still, I met Jesus in a new way in that moment, and in the moments to come (there have been many), when this same scenario played itself out over and over again.

When I think back on this experience, I think of how I so often turn away from Jesus’ face—on a daily basis, even! How in shame, I make split-second choices not to pray about something, or I believe there’s no way He could want to see my tear-stained, sinful self.

Yet He does. Gently—yet firmly—He puts his hands on my face and turns me toward Him, turning me to look in His eyes. And I am met with grace, with kindness. 

How tenderly He redirects my gaze! Over and over again, I look to myself to fix earth’s problems, and over and over I find myself entangled in a web of shame and guilt, believing lies and fixating on unfixable things.

The root lie is that I am not worthy of love and belonging—and then, the web of solutions entangles:

If I lose weight, I will be worthy.

If I make more money, I will be worthy.

If I own a business, I will be worthy.

Gently—yet firmly—He turns my eyes back to Him. There is nothing in the world as stunning as His face, but somehow I get distracted anyway. Slowly, I am beginning to understand that the brokenness of the world can be a blessing, if only to show me there is nothing like His face.

I am like a child standing at a locker with the combination lock code written down in bold letters before me, but who chooses to try to open the lock by trial and error. Jesus, in His patience, stands with me.

0000 doesn’t work. He redirects my eyes to the key—to Himself.

0001 doesn’t work. He turns my face toward Him.

0002. He puts His hand under my chin and lifts until my eyes meet His.

0003…

Again and again, gently—yet firmly—Jesus puts his hands on my face and turns me toward Him. No amount of shame (or snot) will deter Him from turning my face to Him.

And it hits me: He doesn’t just want me to see Him. He wants to see me. Because I am valuable. I am worthy of love and belonging. 

Love, belonging, and me—we find our place in His eyes.

3 Things to Know When Processing Trauma

 Guest Post by Allie Chapa

Adobe stock photo

The middle is a disheartening place; you don’t quite see the beginning and you definitely don’t see the end. This is how I would describe my process with mental illness and trauma right now. I’m in the foggy, muddy middle and quite honestly, most days I want to give up.

For the last year and a half I’ve been focusing on recovery from my latest episode of depression and anxiety. I have found that for me, medication and counseling are what I need during this time, even though it may not be what’s best for everyone. More specifically, I have been doing EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) therapy, a specialized therapy that focuses on trauma. (You can learn more about EMDR therapy, here.)

Within the last five years, with the help of a counselor, I have learned that my childhood was abnormal from others. I have a loving mother who did her best raising me but unfortunately was also emotionally abusive. The pain from this has manifested in a multitude of false beliefs about myself and others—beliefs so deeply embedded in my mind that I didn’t know they were false until this past year as I’ve processed them for the first time in EMDR therapy.

This journey has been long, hard, and freeing all at the same. I have found relief that the things I believe about myself and others are completely wrong. I have found more anxiety because there are so many false and negative beliefs. I have found hope that I can believe new things. I have found frustration because truly believing those new things is really hard. I have found despair because I feel like I’ll never get past all of my trauma. I have found that I not only grow as I go through the process but I also fail—a lot.

Photo by Joshua Sortino on Unsplash

I can’t say these tips will apply to everyone because I don’t believe the journey looks the same for everyone. We’re all unique individuals, and our journeys will also be the unique. But here are some things that I’ve found help me as I get through the middle of my journey with trauma. (Note: these are all things I’m still learning to do and definitely have not mastered!)

1. Take time to take care of yourself.

The battle to replace your old belief system with a new one takes a lot of energy and can be exhausting. Make sure to be kind to yourself and do things that give you peace and bring you joy. I usually go and buy some dark chocolate after my EMDR sessions and find time to take a nap to rest.

2. Focus on one new belief at a time.

As my journey goes on, I tend to get overwhelmed and feel despair when I think of all of the new thoughts and beliefs I’m working on. Instead of trying to believe 15 new thoughts, I’m working on focusing on just one at a time. It helps me to write mine out on a large chalkboard I have and display it somewhere I can repeatedly read in my house.

3. Give yourself permission to feel pain.

This one is really hard for me. I’m learning that when it comes to trauma, there are layers and layers of pain to be dealt with. No one likes to feel pain, but I’m told that there’s no other way to get to the other side without feeling the pain.

If you are someone who has experienced trauma, I want you to know that your pain is real. I don’t want to pretend to know your kind of pain, but I do know it can hold you back for too long. Please, don’t wait to find help, because there is so much more to your life than the pain you have experienced.

How to Help a Loved One with an Eating Disorder

Guest Post by Faith Badders

Photo by Chansereypich Seng on Unsplash

Over time I have learned that my mind can create something beautiful or something dark and destructive. When I was young, I was a pretty content girl and passionate about living my life to its fullest even when times were tough. As I entered my senior year, I started to evaluate my life and noticed how average I was as a student, dancer, tennis player, daughter, sister, and friend. I felt like everything I once was content with no longer measured up to what my mind was telling me I should have become. At the same time, I was dealing with food sensitivities, recovering from a breakup, and embracing the life changes that would come after graduating high school. 

Slowly but surely I started to develop an unhealthy relationship with food. I was hypersensitive to my emotions and how I felt about food; it was if my gut was an irritable monster that wanted to avoid discomfort at all costs. I never restricted and developed anorexia, but I did eliminate a lot of foods out of my diet and obsessively thought about when and what I would eat. I became anxious and even annoyed around food and how much it consumed my thought life. After six months of dealing with this unhealthy relationship with food, I dropped to an unhealthy weight and was not capable of gaining weight back on my own. 

After graduation, I planned on going on a mission trip to a third world country. However, my parents did not let me go because they did not want me losing any more weight. My parents saying no turned my life around, and I am greatly appreciative of their decision. Instead of going on the mission trip, I decided to admit that I was powerless and needed to surrender control. I spent my entire summer at a treatment center and embraced a journey to receive complete healing. Talk about a humbling yet powerful experience. 

Treatment was hard, pushed me to my edge, and grew me as a person. Every day I had to decide to work hard, rest in grace, and receive the help and support needed to get through the program. Even though my family and friends did not always know how to address the situation, they were very supportive and loved me throughout the process. I am very thankful for the people in my life who love me and support me, but I have learned to acknowledge that I, myself, am ultimately responsible for my recovery and maintaining a healthy mind, spirit, and body.

Photo by Marcelo Matarazzo on Unsplash

Every person’s journey with food is different, but here are a few suggestions on how to walk alongside them in the midst of an eating disorder.

Have conversations about it—and don’t forget to listen.

It’s easy to avoid difficult conversations, especially when it comes to a sensitive topic like an eating disorder. But broaching the topic opens the door for dialogue and the road to recovery. Ask questions and listen, and most of all, be patient and supportive. Validating feelings, asking questions, and withholding judgment are vital for recovery.

Don’t give quick fixes.

Even though comments like “Just eat more” or “Just look in the mirror—you look great” can seem like a natural response, they can do more harm than good. These statements imply eating disorders are casual problems rather than the complex situations they are. If a statement starts with “just,” think twice before saying it out loud. Instead, encourage your loved one and speak truth about their value as a person.

Offer to help look for professional help.

Finding a doctor or making an appointment with a counselor can be intimidating for many people. Offer to look up providers in the area or to take them to an appointment. Receiving compassionate care can help a person understand any diagnoses they may have as well as screen for any related medical problems. Optimally, eating disorders are addressed holistically, with a team of people helping to talk through nutrition, their relationship with food, and healthy coping mechanisms (counseling was my favorite).

Stay away from shaming.

Stay away from focusing on your emotions and blaming an individual for them (i.e., “I’m scared when you don’t eat” or “I feel guilty that you’re not doing well”). Addiitonally, rather than making comments about actions you disagree with (not eating enough, hurting yourself by doing this, etc.), ask about the emotions or motivations behind these actions. Instead, ask questions about topics like what they find stressful in life or what drives their fear of gaining weight.

Learn about eating disorders.

The more you know about eating disorders, the more likely you’ll be able to offer empathy and positive support. Researching will help you understand what kind of treatment your loved one might need, and it will also make you aware of personal challenges or biases you may not be aware of.

Tips for Parents

While these next few are especially useful for parents, we can all implement them in our lives.

Set a positive example.

This goes far beyond what (or how much) you eat. It includes being mindful of your own self-esteem and self-image and speaking positively about yourself and your body. It also includes avoiding criticism about appearance (your own or anyone else’s). In conversation, try focusing on character qualities instead of physical appearance.

Hold your child accountable, but don’t hover.

Instead of acting like the “food police” or trying to force them to eat, set limits. Using natural consequences to their actions instead of “punishments” you prescribe can be much more powerful motivators. For example, when I was in a weakened state, it wasn’t safe for me to go on a trip to Belize, so my parents didn’t allow me to go.

Don’t blame—your child or yourself.

Instead of focusing on the “could have” and “should have” moments in life, look forward and identify action points you can take today. Evaluate what you have learned and how you can incorporate that into you relationship with your child. Instead, continue to provide hope to yourself and your child by focusing on every victory, no matter how small.

Make meals enjoyable.

Eating meals as a family or inviting friends over for dinner can make mealtimes something to look forward to. Having fun with each other instead of talking about the day’s complications or problems can help create a positive atmosphere, which can become associated with food.

Last of all, take care of yourself.

Make sure you have a support system where you can talk about your struggles and the complex emotions around a loved one with an eating disorder. Consider setting aside a regular time when you can process verbally with a friend, family member, or therapist. By practicing self-care, you’re not only ensuring you can parent your child well, but you’re also modeling self-love in a practical way.

Growing Up as a Banana

“Yellow on the outside, white on the inside.” That’s what the term “banana” means. You guessed it: I'm Chinese American. 

I grew up in a primarily Caucasian Houston neighborhood, and though I wouldn’t say I faced discrimination, there are a few things I experienced simply because I wasn’t white. I dismissed those memories as unimportant for a long time, but today I want to recognize them because they do matter—especially as a child, which is when these experiences occurred.

 Memory #1: Playground Woes

We were playing a game of tag on the playground at the YMCA during my brother’s baseball practice. My sister and I joined the other players’ younger siblings to swing, show off our monkey bar skills, and finally play tag. It was all fun and games until one of the little boys asked what my ethnicity was.

“I’m Chinese American,” small, elementary-aged me replied proudly.

“Oh! China!” came the quick response.

Before I knew what was happening, this little boy egged on every child on the playground to chant with him: “Chi-na! Chi-na! Chi-na!” (And not in a kind, we’re-cheering-you-on way.)

Unfortunately, I happened to be “it” at the time, so I tried extra hard to tag another person and get rid of this unnecessary attention. Confused and upset, I just couldn’t catch them, and all of a sudden, as kids do, this little boy changed the rules of the game. 

“You can’t climb on the playground when you’re ‘it,’” he announced. “Only the other kids can climb.”

The rule change was accepted without second thought.

Thus began the real frustration. Somehow my younger sister also ended up being “it” (another unfair rule change in the middle of our game?), so the two of us ran in circles on the ground while the other boys and girls stood on the structure, taunting us by hanging off platforms until we got close, and then scurrying back into the middle of the play structure, out of reach. 

Over and over it happened. The little ringleader boy would stick his foot out. We’d see it and feverishly lunge toward it to tag him, and he’d pull back just in time and retreat to safety to laugh at us. All the while, the chanting continued.

“Chi-na! Chi-na! Chi-na!”

Suddenly, baseball practice was over. Parents came to pick up their children, and everyone dispersed. Practice ended, the game of tag ended, and so did my innocent pride for my heritage. I was humiliated.

I held my dad’s hand as we walked across the grass toward the parking lot.

“What country were they shouting?” he asked gently.

“China,” I mumbled, and then all was quiet.

Up until now, that’s the last time I spoke of this event to anyone, ever. Shame has that effect. As a child, I learned many things that day, but most of all, I learned to be ashamed my heritage was different.

Memory #2: The Eyes

This isn’t necessarily a single memory as it is a collection of them. It happened so many times I can’t even count or recount them all. But basically each time was the same:

Chinese anything came up in conversation—Chinese culture, Chinese names, Chinese food—and one of my little Caucasian friends would impulsively put their fingers to their eyes and squint to make it look like they had “China eyes.” Sometimes gibberish would come out of their mouths as they spoke “Chinese.”

Occasionally moms and dads would scold their children, but most of the time parents weren’t present. To say it was awkward is an understatement. Sometimes the kids didn’t even know I was Chinese, and after a few initial times of telling them to “please stop because I am Chinese and it isn’t nice to make fun of people,” my spunk shrunk and I shut up.

Now, much later in life, every once in a while close friends and I will joke about my eyes, but there’s a definite line between mutual joking with a friend and mocking someone’s (or a whole people group’s) appearance.

It took me a lot longer than the playground incident to learn this lesson as a child, but learn it I did: it’s not cool to look different from other people. I learned to be ashamed of my appearance because I wasn’t white.

Here and Now

Were those children trying to make me ashamed of who I was? No, I don’t believe so. Children do and say inappropriate things all the time. That’s how they learn. I’m sure I said and did plenty of offensive things too when I was young. There is grace for all.

Why then am I even bringing this up? Because although there is indeed grace, there’s also a very real impact these events had on my perception of self. Today, I am so grateful for the diversity of my upbringing. I’m proud of the fact I grew up in a Chinese American family, and I’m proud of my heritage. Yet it’s taken some time to regain this pride.

I know now the “yellow on the outside” isn’t something to be ashamed of; it’s something to be treasured. I am not less beautiful because I am Asian, and the unique heritage I carry is a gift and an honor.

In a time when there is a huge push for “tolerance” and “acceptance,” perhaps it’s wise to remember the actions which seem most insignificant often have the deepest and most long-lasting impact on those around us.

Thanks for reading! There are many issues I didn’t address in this post, and I would love to hear your thoughts on them:

• Is there an imbalance between the passion around ballot issues for equality and the willingness to identify & adjust our personal, everyday biases and shaming practices?
• If so, how do we address everyday shame-creating actions/conversations?
• How do we help young people process these shameful moments/interactions?
• What are ways childhood experiences shaped how you view(ed) yourself (race-related or not)?
• How did you process these experiences?

Leave a comment, send an email, or come share a cup of coffee with me and tell me what you think in person!