Doing Battle with the Crazy Lady

I say it in the strawberry patch. The three of us are bent over, stretching to find red springtime in the blanket of green vines.

We walk out the door and breathe in the distant hills. The foothills of the Appalacian mountains rise in the distance to meet the horizon. The rolling farmland stretches out before me and I remember a different life when my family lived in this place.

Photo Credit: Flickr versageek

My sister feels it too. She breathes in the farm air and exhales, “This place makes me happy.” Mom sighs. For her, the beauty in this place is laced with pain, memories of struggle, worry, and discord.

We walk 100 yards to the strawberry patch, the very spot where we tended a garden all those years ago. The blue sky, fresh air, and hands in the dirt make the conversation free and open.

There in the strawberry patch I tell them. For the first time in my life, I tell these women about the crazy lady inside my head — the face of my fears since childhood. She is the cruel voice that has stopped me short with words vicious and sharp: ugly, boring, geek, wallflower, loser, lazy, hypocrite.

Mom gasps when I describe her. This is all news to her. My artist-sister stares at me with eyes that know. She’s done battle with her own crazy lady.

I try to visualize her. The shape of her face is like mine. Her blue eyes are like ice, pale blue with a dark ring around the iris. Her skin is ashen, gray. A few stray freckes dot her nose. Her hair is like a wild blooming forsyitha in the spring, red and on fire. Her eyes are wild but focused like a jungle cat stalking its prey.

And just like John Nash was followed his entire life by three characters that existed only in his mind, so she is always with me.

After 35 years, I give her a face and an identity. Not to give credence to her words, but to call her out so I can see her more clearly. It’s much easier to fight a seen enemy than an un-seen one.

I’ve come to recognize her familiar strains. Fear is her native tongue; shame is her homeland.

“If you say what you really think, they’ll think you’re crazy.”

“You should try harder. You’re lazy.”

“No one’s going to listen to you.”

“You can’t do that, why even try.”

For years I believed I couldn’t accomplish anything until she was gone. I had to be positive, think good thoughts, and believe in myself. The problem was, it never really happened. I faked confidence on the outside, but she was still raging on the inside.

Then, came the idea. I don’t know if I read it in a book or a Bible study. I don’t know know if it’s original to me or if I internalized it from shomewhere outside. But one day I realized: “God’s Word is true, no matter how I feel.”

One sentance became my silver bullet against the crazy lady.

She would incite fear; I would think: “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. _a“ I felt afraid, but I could moved forward anyway.

She would tell me I was unattractive, undesirable, unlovely. I would remind her: “Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight. _b“

Over time, as I applied this principle, the crazy lady’s voice became less powerful.

One day my husband and I were talking about getting older and the changes we’ve gone through in sixteen years of marriage. I mourned the loss of my pre-baby body and the energy and idealism of my early twenties. He looked at me squarly, “I like you much better now. That girl I married was afraid. You are not afraid.”

The crazy lady stood hushed in the corner.

There are days when she still rages, days when her voice rings loud in my ears and I want to wallow, to give in, to listen to her tirades. But instead I turn, face her and fire back.

I love you, O LORD, my strength.
The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,
my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised,
and I am saved from my enemies.
(Psalm 18:1-3 ESV)

I am saved from my enemies, even if the enemy is me.

What about you? Is there a crazy person in your head?