Overcoming 12 Months of Insecurity

LOFT cardi | Boden Wow skirt and Breton top | Claire's headwrap
 Target watch | Eat Cake for Breakfast Graphic Tote (tutorial)

So I haven’t blogged in a while. In fact, I've been afraid of blogging for about a year now. It seemed too false, too unreal, to post pictures of myself smiling when I've been in the middle of such an internal battle. You see that girl over there…the one hiding from people and avoiding conversation? Yup, that’s me.We all have our unique shape of fear and mine has been plaguing me in the big, fat form of INSECURITY.  The critic in my head speaks loudly, causing me to worry that my art is a waste of time…letting me believe that I really do have something valuable to offer but insisting that someone else can do it better.  Her question whispers those six foul words into my heart: Who do you think you are? 

Have you ever noticed how the ghost of INSECURITY seems to make so much sense? She knows everything. INSECURITY knows why I’m an idiot. She knows why my art doesn't matter, why my skill-set isn't useful.  INSECURITY can recite all the ways my ideas are recycled and my designs are un-wearable and why people think my outfits are ridiculous. She writes a song about my inadequacy and failure and weaves the sticky, little melody all around my heart. And I believe her. I stop writing. Stop the sewing. Stop the designing. Stop blogging. Stop creating. I believe her and everything just…stops. I lose sight of my truth.

I've known since I was nineteen that I wanted to open an online boutique of pretty skirts and dresses. Launching the KRISTINA J. blog while my children were babies at home was a strategic step towards that goal…creating a place where I could experiment with styles, designs and product shoots while getting feedback for what women were really looking for in their clothes.  And then came the day when all three kiddos were attending school and I was finally going to have enough time to launch a clothing line and what did I do? I freaked out, that’s what. I ran. I became desperately afraid of my inadequacy ruining my dreams instead of embracing the beauty of what I might create in the process. 

INSECURITY made a list of my shortcomings and convinced me that the eyes of a huge audience were trained in my direction, waiting for me to make a fool of myself. Focusing on the whispers of INSECURITY turned my hope-filled dream into something that was too serious and cumbersome to carry. Pursuing THE DREAM became such a big deal that instead of pursing God, I sank into self-effort and expectation.  While I should have spent this year being an image bearer with a job to do, I've become a job doer with an image to maintain.

Here’s the discovery it’s taken me an entire year to figure out. I can try to believe in myself and sink into procrastination and worry that my art is not enough…that I have nothing to offer. Or I can sink hard into God.  I choose that last one.

Though I’m not sure anyone even reads this blog anymore, I’m publicly confessing that INSECURITY took me down, but this is me, getting back up, brushing off my knees after the fall and deciding to make art even as I wait for courage.  Yes, someone else can write better, blog better, love better, design better, and sew better. Other people can construct clothes better, but that doesn't mean I can’t design and construct as well. 

Of course, even with this confession INSECURITY continues to vomit: Who do you think you are?

Who do I think I am?

I am a God-redeemed young woman made in the image of Creator God and given a specific set of skills by his creative design. I am a poem…his artwork.  No more waiting for qualifications, permissions or self-approval.

My hands are filled with dreams and desires and all I can do is respond to God where I am as I am with what I've got.  

I've got sewing machine and the skill to use it.

I've got a point-of-view and a platform from which to display it.

And I have a dream to delight others with what I have to offer.

I am an image bearer and I have a job to do.

That’s my truth.