Once I again, I find myself drawn to this post. A lot of people struggle with their identities. If we will be a people who encourage our differences in personalities and allow them to thrive . . . if only . . .
I’m dented. In many places, I have dents – dents and scratches from the ‘hit-and-runs’ of life and her mercenaries. Dents from her words and his actions and dents from their stares. I’ve lost, in many ways, the purity of my identity; the way my Creator fashioned me: for the sake of conformity.
I dent, daily.
I struggle. I remember being young and looking for love in all the wrong places because I was consumed by a need – an empty space inside that needed to be filled, so I filled it with all the wrong things and all the wrong bits around the wrong people. I dented my identity to fit into those circles when my mould wasn’t so elastic, so it broke . . . and I still struggle.
“You’re too loud, hush!”
“You’re too playful, halt!”
You’re too . . . not like me, stop!”
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