This is a guest post by Megan Bliss. Her refreshingly open testimony of the struggles she has had with body image are inspiring and enlightening.
Megan Bliss writes:
I was always very confident. That is, until I met my husband.
Does that sound backwards? Maybe a little bit. As a teenager, and even through college, I had a fair amount of self-confidence for a lanky adolescent.
I had great friends, got good grades, and didn’t feel the need to date every boy who expressed interest in me. I loved writing poetry and spending time with my family. And when I developed crushes on guys who didn’t like me back, well, I got over it.
I only had my heart broken once. After a lot of tears, time alone with God, and plenty of chocolate ice cream, I got over that, too. Just as I was coming out of that heartbreak and starting to feel like myself again, I met the man who’d become my husband.
We went on dates, laughed a lot, and agreed on almost everything—or at least the important things. He proposed a year after we met, and now we’ve been married for over six months.
And some of those days have been the most insecure of my life.
When I finally understood what it meant to have a man’s attention—and to actually want it—I became so much more critical of myself. Was I interesting enough? Intelligent enough? Pretty enough? I was so sure I wasn’t.
I quickly convinced myself I’d never quite measure up to what he expected of a “perfect” wife.
Surely I’d never be able to keep his interest, and he’d always be tempted to look elsewhere. While I was getting caught up in little things like applying two coats of concealer and choosing the perfectly sexy pair of shoes, I was oblivious to my own misguided placement of my expectations.
There I was, placing my sense of self-worth in what he thought of me, expecting him to keep me fulfilled with kind compliments and romantic gestures, completely ignoring the gravity—the desperate insistence—of my Father’s love for me. None of this was his fault, though. It was mine.
The moment I stopped looking up for my security and started looking around me instead, I started to lose my confidence in who and what I was—not just a wife, but a daughter of God.
A perfectly-loved and intentionally-made daughter of God. I didn’t need to say or do anything to earn His love. It was already mine, whether I recognized it or not.
I thought back to the mantra I’d made my own years ago, the one that kept me hopeful and confident:
I thought of you; a bud opened.
Isn’t that the sweetest truth you can imagine? That God loves you so fiercely the very flowers bloom when He thinks of you?
My husband has always lavished me with the finest love and assurance, and he constantly reminds me of his faithfulness to me. I’m learning to be more honest with him about my struggles, too. He comforts me, but it’s not enough.
No person has enough power to permanently quell our insecurity. We will always need more to sustain us. Personally, I know I will always have to fight it. But I’m learning to be thankful, because it keeps me dependent on the only One who knows every intimate part of my heart and loves me unconditionally anyway.
When I remember that He has named me, I am much happier in my skin, not because of it.
By Megan Bliss
Author Bio: Meghan Bliss is a freelance writer, editor, and lover of poetry living in North Carolina. She enjoys blogging regularly at http://theblissfulpoet.com and attempting to play disc golf with her husband. She is happiest in the fall with a latte and cookie in hand.