~
Sometimes you don't realize how intertwined a lesson is into yourself until you try and explain your mentality, your behavior, to another. I was raised, taught, and educated about labels. For the last two years I have been trained as a professional to avoid this mistake. He is not an Autistic child. He is a child with Autism. He is not a sick child. He is a child who has cancer. Somehow it has become some engrained in me: actions and circumstances do not always determine identity.
You lied. Are you a liar?
You committed a crime. Are you a criminal?
You took something that didn't belong to you. Are you a thief?
Your legs don't work. Do you identify as a cripple?
You are mentally handicapped. Do you respond to the word "retarded"?
At some point, your actions do take over and become your identity. At some point, you lie enough you become a liar. It is part of who you are because of the frequency, the motivations, the intentions behind your lying.
You are sitting in jail because you are a criminal. You have hurt, stolen, broken, or trafficked. Once you've served your sentence, are you still a criminal? You have been rehabilitated, but you walk out of the prison, with the word "felon" forever tattooed on your forehead.
Labels break us. This is the whole concept behind the Scarlet Letter.
Labels turn us against each other. They give us grounds to judge and ammunition to use against one another.
In the social sciences, Labeling Theory assumes an individual or a people group or a community is affected by the names and stereotypes placed on them. Labels impact behavior. Labels foster hopelessness. People sometimes resign to delinquent, deviant, unacceptable, or cyclical behavior simply because a label has been placed on the group of people they belong to.
In some cases, Labeling Theory is used as a deterrent for such behaviors. Individuals may avoid certain actions, behaviors, or participation in activities in order to avoid being labeled as "drop out", "thief,"or even "addict". Studies are starting to show, however, in the most delinquent of communities.... it's not working anymore.
I wonder why.
One of the oldest adages we can all remember is: sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.
Say what you want. Your words do not have an effect on me.
What a nasty lie.
~
I was called damaged.
To you, this word may not sound so bad. In some situations, it may even resonate with you. Yes, I feel damaged. I feel like I am not good enough. Like I fall short. Like I am unwanted, unusable, undesirable, rejected.
Words mean something to me.
Words hurt me worse than any other weapon ever could.
And when that word, those words: damaged goods reached my ears, it made my heart hurt. Because it resonated with some of my deepest fears, the deepest fears straight from the enemy. Like gasoline on a flame. Those two words, the one phrase, fueled the smallest of sparks the enemy has ignited in me over the last year.
Because in my mind, damaged means worthless. I hear "damaged" and I immediately think of the furniture on the side of the road waiting for the garbage men. I think of the dented cans of nonperishables, which are drastically discounted because they're not worth as much anymore.
To me... damaged is synonymous with "worthless", "useless", with trash.
And I am not trash.
So what do you answer to?
I answer to scarred.
Hurt.
Growing.
Healing.
On some days, on most days, I even respond to broken.
But I will never respond to damaged.
~
This mentality led me to start a project last year.
I have an eighteen inch scar down the middle of my back. It is no longer incredibly noticeable, no longer causes me any pain, and most days is not a source of any real insecurity.
But it used to be.
I used to buy clothes to hide it. It used to tinge with pain as the nerves grew back together. It now looks like a nice, long, pink scratch. Healed.
Now, there is a numb spot right in the middle. But it doesn't hurt anymore.
Because of this strong thread throughout my story, I have become fascinated with people's scars.
So last year I started a project. I wanted to turn scars into art. I wanted to turn the very things, which represented so much hurt and pain in all our lives, into something beautiful. I believe there is a story behind every scar. And therefore, our scars tells the stories of our lives.
Scars are beautiful. Because scars mean it doesn't hurt any more. That healing is happening... what caused us pain may be over.
This thought process resonated with a lot of people. People who'd survived cancer, car wrecks, life-threatening surgeries, and self-mutilation. People who'd always looked at their scars and been embarrassed or ashamed. Looked at their scars like imperfections, hiding them under make up and clothes.
It resonated because we are all scarred.
Hurt.
Even broken.
I, for one, know I am now stronger in some of my broken places than ever before.
My scars represent growth and healing and the provision and protection of my Father.
My scars tell my story.
~
Be careful how you label others.
Be careful of the words you use.
Be careful of what you say about someone who cannot hear you.
Be careful of mistaking treasure for trash.
Damage for redemption.
Beauty for ashes.
We have been repurposed. All our imperfections, brokenness, and flaws -- smoothed over, repaired, enhanced. (http://repurposedsoul.tumblr.com/)
Be careful with the words you use to describe someone. Some of us will hear those words so often they will become our identity. We may lose ourselves in who you think we are. And only a few of us are strong enough to emerge from that, whole.
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