In "Facing the Numbers", I calculated up my debt, detailing where some of the money had been spent. Since that day in late 2012, I have asked myself these questions: What led me to spend like that? Why did I think it was ok? Was there something behind that? I can't completely dismiss it as only foolish stupidity spurred by the impossible ease of plastic. Why did I do that?
By the time I applied to borrow for my graduate school, I already had significant credit card debt. In 2010, at age 31 (with no debt but my car and mortgage), I had poured thousands of dollars into a national beauty pageant. Yeah, that's right, thousands.
I had set my mind to win. To do so, I needed a gorgeous dress, interview suit, fashionwear and swimsuit. I also hired a personal trainer, make-up artist and interview coach.
Had my competitive nature led me to spend? It was only a small part. I wanted everything to appear perfect. I coveted an impeccable swimsuit body, flawless walk and interview charm. I couldn't get a second-hand dress-someone might notice! I needed to appear not only beautiful, but incredibly successful. Not to be seen as such would be, well... embarrassing.
Of course I had reasons for thinking this was ok. I had never just "had fun" with my money. Everyone has to have a time to splurge on something, right? I was expecting a large payment from the Air Force for travel expenses/allowances from my recent deployment. I told myself I was spending that money. Deeper still, I had structured my pageant platform around an enduring emotional pain that I still carried. If I could speak about this, I could make a difference and perhaps find healing for myself. Wasn't that worth the expenditure?
I failed to achieve my ultimate goal for which I had mortgaged myself dearly. I did not win, finishing below the top three. I received the Director's Choice Award for the "spirit" I displayed, but I saw myself as a miserable failure. I felt stupid, ugly and rejected. Crestfallen, I returned home.
By the time I applied to borrow for my graduate school, I already had significant credit card debt. In 2010, at age 31 (with no debt but my car and mortgage), I had poured thousands of dollars into a national beauty pageant. Yeah, that's right, thousands.
I had set my mind to win. To do so, I needed a gorgeous dress, interview suit, fashionwear and swimsuit. I also hired a personal trainer, make-up artist and interview coach.
Had my competitive nature led me to spend? It was only a small part. I wanted everything to appear perfect. I coveted an impeccable swimsuit body, flawless walk and interview charm. I couldn't get a second-hand dress-someone might notice! I needed to appear not only beautiful, but incredibly successful. Not to be seen as such would be, well... embarrassing.
Of course I had reasons for thinking this was ok. I had never just "had fun" with my money. Everyone has to have a time to splurge on something, right? I was expecting a large payment from the Air Force for travel expenses/allowances from my recent deployment. I told myself I was spending that money. Deeper still, I had structured my pageant platform around an enduring emotional pain that I still carried. If I could speak about this, I could make a difference and perhaps find healing for myself. Wasn't that worth the expenditure?
I failed to achieve my ultimate goal for which I had mortgaged myself dearly. I did not win, finishing below the top three. I received the Director's Choice Award for the "spirit" I displayed, but I saw myself as a miserable failure. I felt stupid, ugly and rejected. Crestfallen, I returned home.
I was painfully reminded of my brief foray into modeling. At age 25, after losing over 25 pounds, I had been contracted by a local modeling agency. The major drawback to my getting jobs (I thought) was my skin. I had suffered from severe acne as a teen and bore the scars.
"Just work on it." I was told. I went to various plastic surgeons, undergoing painful chemical and laser peels. I never achieved perfect skin. Wow! How realistic! I had entered modeling in pursuit of glamor and status. I left a little over a year later. I had been a model but I felt hideous.
What I did not understand was that I was seeking irrefutable evidence of my own self worth: if I could prove I was beautiful, I had value as a human being.
How had I come to be so emotionally bankrupt? So devoid of self-love and self-worth? Each of us must face our demons but mine were many. I traced them to a series of events beginning at age seven. Over a period of two years, I was molested on multiple occasions.
"Just work on it." I was told. I went to various plastic surgeons, undergoing painful chemical and laser peels. I never achieved perfect skin. Wow! How realistic! I had entered modeling in pursuit of glamor and status. I left a little over a year later. I had been a model but I felt hideous.
What I did not understand was that I was seeking irrefutable evidence of my own self worth: if I could prove I was beautiful, I had value as a human being.
How had I come to be so emotionally bankrupt? So devoid of self-love and self-worth? Each of us must face our demons but mine were many. I traced them to a series of events beginning at age seven. Over a period of two years, I was molested on multiple occasions.
As a child, I did not understand a piece of my soul had been stolen. With the years came the realization, engulfing me with it's unspeakable pain and shame. Pain became anger, deepening into rage. I turned that rage onto the safest (and nearest) victim present-myself.
I think as children, we do our best to make sense of an unpredictable world. If we know why something happened, it is far less frightening. When people I loved and trusted harmed me, I concluded it could only be my fault.
For the better part of 17 years, I tortured myself with bulimia and self mutilation. I mercilessly pushed myself to not just succeed, but be perfect. Receiving a "B" on a test or being criticized left me devastated, scourging myself for "being so f-ing stupid". Sometimes, I truly hated myself.
As an adult, I met an older man I came to trust as a father figure. Unfortunately, I discovered too late that I had opened the door to another predator.
Although I was successful in my career, I kept my distance from people, fearing to trust. I dated men occasionally but would quickly break it off: Men were too frightening! I was desperately lonely. My animals and food were my only companions.
In a required class for graduate school in 2012, I met a classmate, Noel. Cautiously, I allowed him to befriend me.
I now pursued a title in bikini competitions. I followed a rigorous diet and exercise regime. I was also spending again, dropping money on collagen and Botox injections. I won a local competition and shelled out almost $1500 to compete for a national title in Las Vegas. I finished last.
Devastated and humiliated, I made my way through the shabby casino to my stale room. I lay there, my body aching. What was I doing?
I think as children, we do our best to make sense of an unpredictable world. If we know why something happened, it is far less frightening. When people I loved and trusted harmed me, I concluded it could only be my fault.
For the better part of 17 years, I tortured myself with bulimia and self mutilation. I mercilessly pushed myself to not just succeed, but be perfect. Receiving a "B" on a test or being criticized left me devastated, scourging myself for "being so f-ing stupid". Sometimes, I truly hated myself.
As an adult, I met an older man I came to trust as a father figure. Unfortunately, I discovered too late that I had opened the door to another predator.
Although I was successful in my career, I kept my distance from people, fearing to trust. I dated men occasionally but would quickly break it off: Men were too frightening! I was desperately lonely. My animals and food were my only companions.
In a required class for graduate school in 2012, I met a classmate, Noel. Cautiously, I allowed him to befriend me.
I now pursued a title in bikini competitions. I followed a rigorous diet and exercise regime. I was also spending again, dropping money on collagen and Botox injections. I won a local competition and shelled out almost $1500 to compete for a national title in Las Vegas. I finished last.
Devastated and humiliated, I made my way through the shabby casino to my stale room. I lay there, my body aching. What was I doing?
The truth hit me like a bolt of lightening. I was seeking validation. I sat up in the darkness, watching the city lights flicker. I was 34 years old, awash in a sea of debt and completely miserable. How foolish I felt, how pathetic. I texted Noel.
"This has all been a fool's errand. I came looking for self-worth."
"It's ok, Em."
"I've been so utterly stupid."
"Do you ever stop abusing yourself?"
The tears began to fall. I was that frightened little girl again, sobbing in her pain and confusion. I just wanted to be held, to be loved by someone who gave a damn about me. Yet I was alone, abandoned in a strange place.
"This has all been a fool's errand. I came looking for self-worth."
"It's ok, Em."
"I've been so utterly stupid."
"Do you ever stop abusing yourself?"
The tears began to fall. I was that frightened little girl again, sobbing in her pain and confusion. I just wanted to be held, to be loved by someone who gave a damn about me. Yet I was alone, abandoned in a strange place.
Who was I anyways? Underneath the carefully crafted exterior, what constituted the authentic Emily? I had always tried to "adjust my personality" to the situation I found myself in. I could be outgoing, reserved, funny or stoic at will. What did I honestly feel? I didn't know. I was floating through life in numbness and detachment.
For a graduation present, Noel had paid my tuition to the Weekend, the first of the Core Trainings offered by Pathways, a non-profit organization in Irving, TX. The Pathways curriculum is designed to increase emotional intelligence, and its trainees are challenged to critically inventory their lives, habits and relationships.
Skeptical and defensive, I was confounded by a simple question: what do you want?. Money, beauty, respect, right? No. These answers were all rejected. To know, I had to feel again. I needed to unlock my poor broken heart I had hidden for so long. I had to acknowledge what I pretended didn't exist: the pain, the shame, the rage. Only then could I truthfully answer. I wanted peace. I wanted to feel worthy. I wanted to love me.
It has been a very long, hard road that still winds before me. I see now that my debt was only a symptom. I was trying to fill the hole in my heart.
In George Eliot's classic tale, Silas Marner is cruelly betrayed by a trusted friend. Embittered, he exiles himself to a distance village. Silas lives as a recluse, caring for nothing except a collection of gold coins hidden beneath the cottage floor. One day his money is stolen. In his feverish search, Silas instead finds an abandoned child. He raises her as his own, discovering with her innocent love the lasting peace of forgiveness.
Psalm 147:3 He heals the broken hearted and binds up their wound.
For a graduation present, Noel had paid my tuition to the Weekend, the first of the Core Trainings offered by Pathways, a non-profit organization in Irving, TX. The Pathways curriculum is designed to increase emotional intelligence, and its trainees are challenged to critically inventory their lives, habits and relationships.
Skeptical and defensive, I was confounded by a simple question: what do you want?. Money, beauty, respect, right? No. These answers were all rejected. To know, I had to feel again. I needed to unlock my poor broken heart I had hidden for so long. I had to acknowledge what I pretended didn't exist: the pain, the shame, the rage. Only then could I truthfully answer. I wanted peace. I wanted to feel worthy. I wanted to love me.
It has been a very long, hard road that still winds before me. I see now that my debt was only a symptom. I was trying to fill the hole in my heart.
In George Eliot's classic tale, Silas Marner is cruelly betrayed by a trusted friend. Embittered, he exiles himself to a distance village. Silas lives as a recluse, caring for nothing except a collection of gold coins hidden beneath the cottage floor. One day his money is stolen. In his feverish search, Silas instead finds an abandoned child. He raises her as his own, discovering with her innocent love the lasting peace of forgiveness.
Psalm 147:3 He heals the broken hearted and binds up their wound.
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