There’s a part of me that instinctively shrivels when my courage rises up. I feel it acutely now, as I transition from the known and comfortable into the unknown and turbulent.
The shriveling is a complicated part of myself that I used to hate. The need to feel smaller represents the judgement and shame I have frequently experienced when beginning to expand. The imposter syndrome planted by external voices has embedded itself in my internal dialogue. Words like “I’m stupid. I’m selfish. I’m making a huge mistake. I’m ruining my husband and kids lives” have been loud and and exhausting these days.
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I can’t ignore or silence these internal voices even now at age 35; they need to be heard. I have been learning to listen to these fragmented parts of myself, to give them the attention, care, and respect that they are asking for. To notice and tend to the contours of their courage and resilience, seeking to understand why they are so loud right now.
They remind me that the shriveling was historically essential: a hard working part to keep me safe. Like the tender nucleus inside a seed, where the many outer layers of the cytoplasm must first fully dehydrate, harden, and shrink in order to preserve all energy for action potentials and growth from within.
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I felt it for the first time when I announced my valiant dream at age 4, “to be a missionary doctor to Africa.” There was the primordial courage, confidence, compassion, and curiosity about god, myself, others, and the world. And there also was the first shriveling: my dreams dissected, my truth redacted, the imposter introduced.
The dissection affirmed my value as a missionary wife and mother, while redacting my belief in my capabilities to become a doctor.
The exact words I do not recall, but this exact message is vivid: “Ruthie is a girl, and girls should not be doctors or leaders. If Ruthie was a doctor who would take care of her babies? Let us pray for a husband for Ruthie who is a pastor with a heart for missions so she can join him and make his babies.”
“Don’t call me Ruthie, call me Ruthless!” I boldly retorted. And so the nucleus formed, while the outer layers shrank.
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I learned that desires must be coated in deference to authority, needs must be carefully coded to maintain invisibility. To want or need too much is a signal of sin; not growth.
How dare I dream of a future for myself.
How dare I imagine that I was capable.
How dare I aspire to achieve greatness.
And so I shriveled many times over, all the while forming the nucleus of a seed that needs to fully dry before it can sprout.
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Each shriveling encounter shaped the path of my evolution towards embodied freedom, each of these segments another story of their own:
Girls do not need an advanced education of any kind, except for the Bible: How dare you.
Girls do not need birth control or sex education: How dare you.
Girls do not need fulfillment outside of a husband and home: How dare you.
Girls do not lead men, churches, or organizations: How dare you.
Girls do not have a place in the military: How dare you.
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How dare I?
Because I’m not Ruthie.
I am Ruth.
👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏
Your writing, your journey, and your courage all inspire me, Ruth.