Don't call me sexy

When I was 14 and had just moved to Canada, I had a shocking experience. While enduring my daily harassment on the bus to school, I heard 2 words that had never been uttered in my direction before that day: "You're sexy." It took me a good couple of minutes to process what had just been said. I was 14 and the new kid with braces, baggy jeans, grown-out highlights, and a funny accent. In my mind, I was anything BUT sexy. Afterwards, I was extremely flattered and took it as the highest of compliments. At 14 I WANTED to be looked upon as "sexy" and kept that same goal for the next few years afterwards. After all, one of my favorite movies at the time was Playing By Heart (still is) and I looked upon Angelina Jolie's character as the ultimate in what I wanted to be when I got older. She went out dancing at clubs all the time, wore super cool (tight) clothes, fun makeup, and oozed sex appeal. She also got Ryan Phillippe's character to fall in love with her in the end. So what lesson did I take away from this movie? Wear tight clothes and ooze sex appeal and you too will get a very hot boy to fall hopelessly in love with you. And oh did I ever want someone to fall in love with me. When the time for having my first boyfriend came, I showed as much skin around him as a 15-year-old could get away with and went much farther with him than a 15-year-old should have. But I thought that sexy girls did these things and sexy girls were the ones guys fell in love with. And if I wasn't sexy, then he wouldn't love me. This process was repeated for the next several boyfriends afterwards.
Flash forward 9 years from that day on the bus, and now I know better. Now I know that I was treated as a sexual object because I portrayed myself as one. Hindsight is always 20/20. Now, at 23, I'm sick of being called "sexy", "hot" and all other forms of the word. I understand that, if you portray yourself as purely "sexy", men take it as a promise for sex. I'm sick of sex. That's all anyone ever talks about. I'm so sick of sex that I've gone back to waiting until I'm married. I am positive that my very small and absolutely horrible experiences with sex were God sending me that strong message. To wait until I am with someone who is actually head-over-heels in love with me. Who wants to wake up next to me every morning. Who thinks I am beautiful...stunningly beautiful...take his breath away beautiful. That man may call me sexy because he won't just be using me for sex.
You want to compliment me? Don't call me sexy. Call me beautiful, breathtaking, stunning, pretty or even cute. Tell me I'm funny. Tell me I have a great personality. Don't call me a word which implies that my total value as a person resides simply in parts of my body and suggests that the only terms in which you think of me are based on sex. Years from now, when my sex appeal is long gone and everything is wrinkled and hanging several inches lower, those comments about my sex appeal will be wasted. The compliments I will always hold dear will reflect my true beauty, which shines from the inside.
So don't call me sexy. It's so boring.

Learning To Breathe

When I was young, mom signed me up for swimming lessons. I liked them well enough and always enjoyed playing in the water. When it was time for us to learn about swimming in the deep end, my instructor took us over and had us hang on to the edge of the pool while she talked about deep water safety. Instead of listening, my friend and I started to play a game of who could take their hands off the edge of the pool for the longest while still staying afloat. I lost. My head went under and I kicked frantically to try and raise myself to the surface. My heart started racing. My brain went into panic mode. I thought about what would happen if I died. Then, in one single moment, I felt a pair of strong hands around my waist and was lifted to the surface, taking in a breath that I felt I had waited years to fill my lungs with. The lifeguard who had saved me softly asked, "Are you ok?" Overwhelmed with embarrassment and relief, I nodded that I was. The whole ordeal couldn't have lasted more than 10-15 seconds, as my swimming instructor was still talking when I came back to the surface. Yet it felt as though I was under water for much much longer.
In a way, I feel as though I am still in that swimming pool. And instead of listening on how to swim in the deep end of adulthood, I played games instead. Now I feel like I'm drowning. Struggling to breathe. Struggling to save myself. I'm 23 and what have I done with my life? Others my age are married and starting families of their own. They're graduating from University and pursuing careers. They're falling in love. They're living on their own. I, however, am living with my mother. I'm working a part time job and looking for another so that I can support the both of us. I have a combined 2 years of post-secondary education with nothing to show for it. My soul aches with longing to find the one I'm meant for. I feel as though I am trapped in a pit of sorrow and poverty and am desperately trying to claw my way out. BUT. In the times where I feel like I'm about to drown, I feel God's strong arms around me and around my heart. He holds my heart in His hands when it feels too heavy for me to carry. He helps me to the surface where I can breathe. He is teaching me to swim in the deep end. It is the times where I don't trust God that I feel myself start to drown again. And every time He helps me to breathe again, I feel overwhelmed with relief...and embarrassment that I have forgotten again about His glory. Yet, no matter how many times I forget, God will always be there...loving me. What an extraordinary feeling: God's awesome love.

"I'm learning to breathe
I'm learning to crawl
I'm finding that You and
You alone can break my fall"
- Switchfoot: Learning to Breathe