Do you see this girl? At church, she is always there; whenever the church doors are open, she is serving or helping somewhere. She is seen with other people’s babies on her hip, and she is often rushing out of service to help in the nursery as needed. The old Southern Baptist grandma praises her mature and responsible behaviour. They tell her she is a rare gift, unlike those other silly girls, who make too much noise and go on too many dates. They tell her she has a good head on her shoulders, she is “wise beyond her years’.  On Sunday’s she wears bright dresses and skirts, contrasting the  dark “emo phase” friends, in black jeans,  t-shirts and “to much make up”. The Grandma’s praise her for “standing out” being “set apart” for not following trends, they compliment her long hemlines, telling her friends that they are showing to much leg. She is a “credit to her family name” who will make an “excellent wife one day”.  The perfect “good little Baptist church girl” who never says no.

   At her homeschool co-op, she is the straight-A student, the one used as an example, the “teacher’s pet”. In the first year, she won the “Shining Star Award” for good lady-like conduct. When they started a “Student of the Month,” she won the first one. She always turned in assignments on time and always volunteered to help.  Never broke dress code, never skipped class, never caused an issue. She walked through the halls, curls bouncing in pink ruffled sweaters, makeup always done to perfection. The teachers and staff trusted her and doted on her. She didn’t flirt or date around like some of her peers. She wasn’t sneaking off to places she shouldn’t be; she never watched or listened to anything she wasn’t supposed to.  She was a “good girl”, a “nice girl”, the perfect little homeschooler. You would think she had it all, that she was the happiest child, living a perfect little life. But what if I told you her secret, one she let few people know, a reality she hid from everyone. What if I told you she was miserable, lonely and depressed? What if I told you  it was all an act?

  You see, once upon a time, there was a little princess who desperately wanted to please her father, but no matter how hard she twirled and bounced, smiled and giggled, it was never enough. She might catch him for a moment, but something always seemed to go wrong, and his delight in her would fade. Finally, one day, about twelve, she was so exhausted from trying to please him, she determined she was inherently bad, that something was wrong and ugly about her on a fundamental level. She feared her father knew the real her, this bad, evil thing inside her and that one day everyone else would see it too. So she devised a plan. While trapped alone in her tower, she decided that if she could convince the rest of the world she was good, then one day, when he tried to tell the world she was bad, they would not believe him. If she could not please her father, then she would please every other adult and authority figure in her life.

To prepare for this role of a lifetime, this act, she did the one thing she did best: she read, and read, and read. Books on biblical femininity, books on dating “God’s way”, books on being a set-apart teen who didn’t conform to the pattern of this world, books about how long a “godly woman’s’ hemlines should be, books on how to be the perfect Christian “good girl”. Alone in her room, she read, taking everything the authors said as gospel, after all, these writers were pastors, leaders of ministries, movements and scholars, all so much smarter than she, so she didn’t question their teachings. Her mom thought the same. After all these books were sold at Mardel and in the “Christian Living” section at the library, what harm could they do?  By fifteen, she had a whole other personality that took form; she had the costume, she had the dance steps down, and the lines memorized.  And so began “the life of a showgirl”, cameras, lights, smile and action. For the next decade, this was her life; it was lonely, painful, and miserable behind the curtain, but her plan was working; she could hear the praise and applause flowing from her audience. She became the girl they wanted.

 As she grew into adulthood, she was increasingly determined to make this false identity real. Even as her world burned to the ground, it only caused more zeal in this pursuit. Everyone had an opinion of what a “good Christian” woman looked like, how she voted, how she dressed, how she looked, how she dated, and how she lived her life. The harder she forced this on herself, the more the authentic she fought back. This caused a deep-rooted self-hatred and only confirmed the need for the mask and false identity. The “real” her opinionated, loud, energetic, and asked way too many questions. She could not allow this type of rebellion; obviously, this rebellious Jezebel needed to be kept confined and controlled. So she sought to organize and control every part of her life, she became obsessed with her image, and kept most people at arm’s length so that they would never see the truth. Year after year, she  grew more tired and exhausted and so very lonely.

  Finally, one day, she broke; she couldn’t do it anymore. She had tried and tried to please everyone, to be what they all expected, and it still hadn’t been enough. There was only one option left to her, she thought, flee, to push everyone out and away and trap herself somewhere far away where she couldn’t hurt anyone and no one could hurt her. So she did, she “froze” her own heart and froze everyone else out, retreating so deep within herself that even the few people who knew the real her lost her. For a while, this brought some relief; all was quiet, and all was numb. She could see she was hurting those around her, but she also just no longer cared. Multiple birthdays and holidays came and went with little effort provided by her; she just couldn’t bring herself to even try. She was so numbed and cold that she had no creative energy to use.

  This lasted for over a year, then at last, after a week’s staycation and lots of time alone with Jesus and her own thoughts. She let herself thaw, but when she did, all the pain from the last fifteen years came flooding in; she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see straight. For a time, it became necessary to put on the mask again, not all the time and not pretending to be someone she was not, but just as a tool to help her function. Multiple things happened that summer that brought about change. Then, as she turned thirty, she decided she was tired of living her life for others, tired of telling herself she was bad if she didn’t follow certain rules. So she took the mask off and smashed it on the ground. Finally, she was free.  

 At first, it was terrifying, and everything felt so foreign. She knew it would be strange to let people in, to allow them to see the real her. There were a lot of people who liked the perfect little good girl, some because she was just their “ideal” image of what a young woman should be, some because they benefited from her lack of boundaries and identity. She knew that being her authentic self would involve displeasing some people when she wasn’t what they had grown to expect. She knew some people would not take being told “no” well, those who liked her better when she twisted herself into knots to accommodate them. She accepted that some might tell her she was no longer a “good Christian” woman because she no longer fit the image in their head. She hated the idea of disappointing people, especially those she had worked so long to gain the approval of, but she could no longer live her life for them, based on their definition of “good and right. One thing she did find is that, amongst all this uncertainty and discomfort, she was also having a lot more fun. Joy was easier to keep, happiness stayed around longer, and she just felt lighter.

  “You are so different now,” one of those close friends commented one day. “All the walls are gone”. The former showgirl gave her biggest genuine smile and replied “yes”, “yes they are”. She didn’t realize the depth of her loneliness, or how much distance the mask had kept between herself and others. Just how much energy had been absorbed by the performance? How many parts of herself she had denied, beliefs, likes, hobbies, creativity, whole parts of her had been suppressed for so long she forgot they existed. Through time alone with Jesus, prayer, and therapy, the authentic her slowly began to gain strength. She still struggled with people pleasing from time to time, but was slowly forming new habits and patterns around that bad habit. Now, when she serves, it’s from a real, deep, genuine kindness Jesus put in her soul; now, when she throws events and parties, she does it with her whole heart. And to her great surprise, the real her is kinder, stronger, grateful, and has more desire and energy to serve than she ever could have imagined. With the showgirl gone now, she could form genuine connections and friendships, truly able to invest in others and be invested in return. Finally experiencing the freedom in Christ she had always dreamed of, no longer a performer in an act but a real, live person.

    I have written and rewritten this piece so many times, it’s strange to admit that the girl that so many people loved and knew wasn’t real. So many emotions came up with this story: disgust at how fake this girl was, grief for how hard she tried, pain that I have long suppressed, and anger at all the lies she was told and then promoted to others. I knew this was supposed to be the first thing I shared on my blog. It needed to be first so that everyone knows who this author really is, and who she is becoming.  This post is also an admission to all those who thought the above girl was a fake and a lie; you were right. I wish I had not wasted a large part of my twenties trying to fit myself into a box and living for other people, but I can’t go back. I wish in 2017 that when the world as I knew it ended that I had taken that chance to build a life I was proud of sooner, that I had taken the time to study, research, and own my beliefs then and not now at almost 31. I wish I had more fun in my 20s and not been so absorbed by this performance, and kept the real, authentic me suppressed. Even though I wish those things, the truth is that masks, armor and fake identity were created as an attempt to protect myself in an unsafe world. However, what is done is done, and now all that is left is to move forward. So let me introduce myself, my name is Shelby, and I am the poet, writer and author of this blog. I don’t have all the answers, I am not quite who I am meant to be yet, but each day I am growing and learning. This blog contains my story, thoughts and perspective, everything that went on behind the act, and what I learned along the way.