Exposed

It was Easter morning, just before church. In my mind, every other woman had already put on her new dress and was looking flawless. Yet, here I was, still trying to get one boy out of bed, while desperately trying to get my thin, straight hair to become wavey and full. Let’s just say, my flatiron was running flat.  

One of my resolutions for the year is "no new clothes in 2024." So, in addition to the morning rush, I shopped my closet of past trends and settled on a knee-length dress that I typically pair with leggings. However, for Easter, I planned to wear stockings instead, aiming for a more spring-like look, and to cover up my insecurities—my legs. They are not my favorite feature, and I shy away from wearing shorts. Hence, letting my legs show has always been a brave move for me. So, I always find something to cover them up with.

As if the morning wasn’t going smoothly, when I tried to put on the hosiery, a long, wide run appeared, ripping apart the hose —and my heart! I gasped with a hand over my mouth. After all, I had no other options left. I tried to reassure myself that I could still wear this dress, but that meant I would have to wear it barelegged. So, I just started reminding myself, “You’ve done it before. You’ve done it before.” But the thoughts kept creeping in, “You were younger then.” “You were skinnier then.” "You were way tanner then." Have you ever had such a conversation with yourself? No? Just me? Well, getting older has seemed to leave confidence behind, you know?

Nevertheless, I walked out of the house and headed to church with my head held high. As I entered the parking lot and parked the car, my confidence flattened just like my hair. In that moment, all my mind could see were perfect women, like Barbies, walking into the church and here I was, painfully aware of how pale I looked, with cellulite seemingly just inches away from being exposed—a mere gust of wind away from showing my imperfections. I kept telling myself to walk to my seat, trying to ignore my self-conscious thoughts and the stares I imagined. But, as I entered the building, there were still hugs to be given and received. A friend asked how I was and without a filter, I blurted out, "My legs are showing, and I’m super insecure about it. I feel so exposed." She didn't seem to fully grasp my words as she moved on, caught up in the busyness of Easter morning.

As I continued through the service, I realized that voicing my insecurities didn't bring the encouragement I deeply wanted; instead, it left me feeling ashamed for burdening someone with my internal struggle. I was supposed to feel free, yet there was nothing freeing about my thoughts. I was supposed to feel fancy, but my posture screamed otherwise.

During the service, I found myself seeking forgiveness for making the day about me. It brought to mind something I read in Sharon Hodde Miller's book "Free of Me" a couple of years ago. She recounted a morning when she ran a quick errand at 7 am, assuming she wouldn’t encounter anyone out that early. She hadn't bothered putting on makeup or changing her clothes, only to bump into a woman from church. Sharon apologized for her bare face, wondering afterward, "Why did I apologize for her seeing my actual face? As if my real face would be offensive to her?" In Chapter Five of her book, she noted, “You probably feel exposed when your physical imperfections are noticeable to others. We all do it, and humans have been doing it since Adam and Eve hid their bodies in the garden. It’s true of sin, and it’s true of muffin tops: we camouflage the things we don’t like about ourselves.”

After church, I moved on with my day and didn’t mention my insecurities again. Truth be told, I couldn’t wait to put on my sweatpants!

Come Monday morning, I started reading the book of Hebrews.  Chapter 4, verses 15 and 16, resonated deeply: “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has been tempted in every way as we are, yet without sin. Therefore, let us approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in time of need.”

Even when friends or family don’t give us the encouragement we want, Jesus can still provide the mercy and grace we truly need. He empathizes with our weaknesses in ways no one else can. He chose to walk the earth in human form, experiencing the same insecurities we face, yet without giving in to them. For every temptation, there's a way out—a promise that allows us to take captive our insecure thoughts.

Hebrews 5:8 brought me a sense of understanding: "Although he was the Son, he learned obedience from what he suffered." The word "learned" struck a chord with me. Jesus navigated through unfamiliar territories, just as we do. He understands our struggles, even the seemingly trivial insecurities.

If I can go a whole year without buying new clothes, embracing what I have and finding contentment in who I am, then surely, I can find contentment in the body God blessed me with. It's a body that is meant to live, love, and laugh.

"God can use everything about us—inside and out—to draw people to him, and the more we lean into that mission, the greater peace we will find. In contrast, when we make our images about us, there is only ever striving." – Sharon Hodde Miller.