Your Own Name
Forget the face of God, and you forget your own name is Beloved.
— Ann Voskamp, The Broken Way, p. 53
Forget the face of God, and you forget your own name is Beloved.
— Ann Voskamp, The Broken Way, p. 53
There is a formula that I’ve seen proven true in my work and my life: to the degree that we treasure our Core Gifts (yes, treasure them; dispassionate acceptance isn’t enough) we attract caring, thoughtful people who are also (miracle of miracles) attracted to us. And, equally amazing, we become more attracted to people who are good for us, and less interested in people who diminish us or leave us feeling insecure.
— Ken Page, Deeper Dating, p.19
The royal road to self-value begins with value of others. Think of how you feel when you’re loving and supportive to those you love, compared to when you devalue them. When we value someone else, we experience more vitality, meaning, and purpose. Valuing others makes self-value soar.
— Steven Stosny, Soar Above, p. 140
The magic of being a unique human being is that only you can define yourself. If you recall some abusive comment that defines you, your motives, thoughts, or feelings, you may choose to laugh at the comment because you know that no one on earth knows your thoughts, feelings, needs, motives, or future. Only you can know what you are, want, feel, should do, how to do what you do, and so forth.
— Patricia Evans, Victory Over Verbal Abuse, p. 98
The real search for love is about embracing our most authentic self, sharing that true self with the precious people who know how to honor it, and learning to offer others the same in return.
— Ken Page, Deeper Dating, p. 2
Through her own challenging experiences of both love and solitude, she had come to know that love is first and foremost an inside job — not in the sense of trying to love herself with positive affirmations but rather in becoming intimate with her own experience, with allowing herself to be transparent to herself and others rather than protecting her heart for fear of being known too well and then rejected.
She was also engaged in a creative and fulfilling life that she loved. As an individual ripens, becomes something in herself, as Rilke puts it, there is less need to find someone else to fill the missing gap. Athena wasn’t averse to an intimate relationship; on the contrary, she knew that she wanted one, but she didn’t need it.
— Roger Housden, Dropping the Struggle: Seven Ways to Love the Life You Have, p. 74-75
This rumble taught me why self-righteousness is dangerous. Most of us buy into the myth that it’s a long fall from “I’m better than you” to “I’m not good enough” — but the truth is that these are two sides of the same coin. Both are attacks on our worthiness. We don’t compare when we’re feeling good about ourselves; we look for what’s good in others. When we practice self-compassion, we are compassionate toward others. Self-righteousness is just the armor of self-loathing.
— BrenĂ© Brown, Rising Strong, p. 119
If you feel bad about anything at all and blame it on someone else, what can you then do to make yourself feel better?
Not a thing. The act of blame renders you powerless, which is the internal source of all the frustration, anger, and resentment that go with blame. More important, blame strips painful emotions of their primary function, which is to motivate corrective behavior. As we saw in the previous chapter, pain — physical and psychological — is part of an alarm network that evolved to keep you safe and well. The function of guilt, shame, and anxiety is not to punish you. Their primary function is to motivate behavior that heals, corrects, or improves.
For example, guilt is about violating your values; the motivation of guilt is to act according to your values. Acting according to your deeper values is the only thing that resolves guilt. Shame is about failure and inadequacy; the motivation is to reevaluate, reconceptualize, and redouble efforts to achieve success, or if the failure is in attachment, to be more loving or compassionate. Those are the only things that will resolve shame. Anxiety is a dread of something bad occurring that will exceed or deplete resources; the motivation is to learn more about what might happen and develop plans to cope with it. Blame, denial, and avoidance might give momentary relief of guilt, shame, and anxiety but will soon worsen them by blocking their natural motivations.
— Dr. Steven Stosny, Soar Above, p. 39
One of the greatest problems in the world is that most of us feel unloved. Sad as it may seem, this dilemma will continue unless we love ourselves. Even as our family and friends love us, we cannot easily experience it when we do not feel any love for ourselves. By this, we give the message that we are not worth loving, which naturally puts people off, fueling the problem. The way to begin solving this unloved feeling is to begin recognizing our worth. The worth that we give ourselves allows others to recognize it in us; if we do not recognize ourselves, no one else can. When we love ourselves, we feel loved.
— Chuck Spezzano, If It Hurts, It Isn’t Love, p. 44
Indeed, our sins — hate, fear, greed, jealousy, lust, materialism, pride — can at times take such distinct forms in our lives that we recognize them in the faces of the gargoyles and grotesques that guard our cathedral doors. And these sins join in a chorus — you might even say a legion — of voices locked in an ongoing battle with God to lay claim over our identity, to convince us we belong to them, that they have the right to name us. Where God calls the baptized beloved, demons call her addict, slut, sinner, failure, fat, worthless, faker, screwup. Where God calls her child, the demons beckon with rich, powerful, pretty, important, religious, esteemed, accomplished, right. It is no coincidence that when Satan tempted Jesus after his baptism, he began his entreaties with, “If you are the Son of God . . .” We all long for someone to tell us who we are. The great struggle of the Christian life is to take God’s name for us, to believe we are beloved and to believe that is enough.
— Rachel Held Evans, Searching for Sunday, p. 19