My first heartbreak wasn’t because of a boy.
Not exactly. Not in the way that a girl’s first heartbreak usually happens. Not in the way one would assume a first heartbreak would happen. This is different.
When I was in elementary school, I knew where I stood. I wasn’t one of the super cool kids, but I wasn’t a total loser either. I was in the middle. The middle was a good place to be, too, because I could be friends with the super cool kids and the not-so-cool kids just the same. The middle was comfortable and I liked it and mediocrity just sort of came natural (not that mediocrity is good – I’m constantly pushing against the apathy that breeds mediocrity). This paragraph really has nothing to do with the rest of this blog, just so you’re aware. I just like it.
But here I was in elementary school – I want to say it was third or fourth grade – and I’m playing some hand games with a few girls outside our classroom as we wait for school to start. Something like, “swing, swing, swing on a summer’s day.” Is that a hand game kid’s play? I was never very good at these hand games with all the clapping and the rhythm keeping and the staying on beat thing. Since we were all girls, we all talked. I mostly listened, my ears wide and taking in all the gossip around me. Even in our young age, gossip was so delicious. The latest news was that Phillip, the most popular Pop Warner football player in our grade, had just dumped Angela, one of the most popular Pop Warner cheerleaders in our grade.
This was big news.
They had totally been dating for, like, a whole week. Or some really long period of time like that.
So his name is Phillip. He was the first boy to ever break my heart. The first boy to ever rip my heart out and throw it on the ground and stomp on it.
In about ten words he managed to shred any bit of self-esteem I may have had. My tender heart seriously could not take it.
But before I share with you the words that have stuck with me since third or fourth grade, I have to tell you – I thought Phillip and I were friends. I really, truly did. We rode our bikes home next to each other practically every day, I’m sure, and chatted about school. This probably isn’t true, but I’m sure that young me really did think that Phillip was my friend. Which makes this all the more painful, because what kind of friend says such hurtful words?
On this day that I heard the news that Phillip had dumped Angela, I felt a pang of sympathy for the poor girl and decided it would be cool if I asked Phillip about it on the ride home. It wasn’t premeditated or anything like that, but at one point during our bike home together, I looked at Phillip and asked,
“so, why did you dump Angela anyways? She’s so pretty!”
To which Phillip replied, “No she’s not. She’s fat and ugly, just like you.”
I sucked the air hard, the wind knocked clear out of me. One big gasp. Clenched teeth to try and hold back the tears. I may have muttered a curse word at him. I peddled hard, fast towards home. Away from Phillip and away from his words – because it wasn’t true and it couldn’t be true, could it? When I got to my house I ran through the front door, tears streaming down my face.
Big Sister saw me. Mom saw me. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Phillip just said I was fat and ugly!” They were barely recognizable words that came out of my little body. They were high-pitched and tear-filled. Tears. Lots and lots of tears.
I remember Big Sister. She said, “you tell Phillip that if he says shit like that to you again, I’ll kick his ass.”
Those words are nice and all, but the boy just called me fat and ugly. I appreciate your sentiment, Big Sister, but those words do not speak Truth to the lies I had just heard. I didn’t recognize this as a child. As a child, all I knew was that my sister could kick his ass, but wouldn’t because she was a girl, so her words were hollow. What I needed in that moment was someone to speak Truth to those ugly lies – someone to shake me by the shoulders and look me in the eye and tell me, “No. Phillip is wrong. You are beautiful. You are important. You are special.”
No one ever did that. It just hung heavy in the air.
I went to my bedroom and hid in my closet, clothes hanging around me and sectioning me off from the rest of the world. I was left alone for a few hours. Left alone to think and stew and let those words “fat” and “ugly” burry deep inside my heart.
And deep they went. To the very core of my being where the lies began to become truths and all I knew was that Phillip had said what everyone else in the world had always thought about me. Fat. Ugly. Then, in the way that Satan often does, new lies were added and budding from those first two.
Stupid. Not enough. Too much.
Slowly, the lies grew and my self-worth evaporated. My innocent eyes were clouded over, so all I saw in the mirror were Phillip’s words. I was disgusted by myself because I suspected that everyone else was, too. I became a burden to myself, and felt like a burden to everyone else. And I’ll tell you — the broken heart that little girl in elementary school experienced has not healed nearly enough. It was a big break. It was a hard break.
I would like to say that today I look in the mirror and see beautiful, and that the lies have been uprooted and Truth planted, and that those burdensome feelings have gone away. I would like to say that.
Truth?
Truth is that there are plenty of days – too many days – where Phillip’s words can still be heard whispering in my ears. Days where I can’t find my worth, so I assume no one else can either. Days where Fat, Ugly, Stupid, Not Enough, Too Much still ring “true.” Days where I question whether or not I’m even worth loving, beautiful, good.
Right now, I honestly can’t write much to how Truth has started to grow. Sure, it has. I embrace myself a lot more today than I have ever before – but this is still far from how God sees me. My eyes? They’re still clouded. My ears still hear the words. My heart is still fractured in some spots.
So I try and cling to the Truth. Even when I don’t feel it or think it or know it, I’ve read it. The words are true – He makes everything new. That includes this bruised heart. That includes this painful memory. That includes this negative self-talk which is a product of conditioning (and, I admit, partly a product of my own wallowing).
Tonight, as I fall asleep, I will pray for peace. I will pray for Truth to be made known to this heart. I will pray for healing. For grudges released and bitterness soothed.
Mostly I will pray for my eyes to be opened to see me the way that Christ sees me: beautiful, whole, worthy, wonderful, made perfect in Him.
