You Are Not Who You Think You Are: Think Different. Break Cycles. Be Confident

By Celeste Gonzales and Lori M Champion

Have you ever had negative thoughts about yourself or allowed the opinions of others to draft a very small image of you and your future? The enemy wants us to think small, see small, dream small, and BE small, but you were made for more! Here's the permission you need to change the scenery in your mind and t

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Redefining LLC
• Release date: Sep 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986566115

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Chapter 1:

Be Whole

Without reflection, we go blindly on our way, creating more unintended consequences, and failing to achieve anything useful.

—Margaret J. Wheatley

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.

1 Corinthians 13:12 (ESV)

Here’s the truth: our reflection only tells us a part of the story. It only shows us the scars, the bruises, the outward beauty, the wanted or unwanted curls, the dimples we show off or the ones we try to hide. . . . The mirror shows a lot, but it is not the whole story. In this book we are going to face the truth about ourselves, so we might see the beauty in our reflection either for the first time or maybe once again. The me that I see in the mirror today is much different than the me I often reflect upon. My hope is that after reading this book, you will realize that you are not who you think you are, you are what God thinks of you. I truly believe that He wants your thoughts concerning yourself to come up a notch.

What We Choose to Believe

My perspective

Growing up, looking into a mirror was not a positive experience for me. What I saw was all my nots: not pretty, not smart and not wanted. I have photos where I can see the emptiness behind my smile and the negative thoughts behind my eyes. I come from God-fearing, loving parents, but even in a good home, you can experience hurt.

My entire childhood I remember my parents laughingly sharing the story of how I came to be. Just about fifteen months after having my sister, my mom discovered that she was surprisingly pregnant with me. I can imagine her standing at the door waiting for my dad to come home from work so she could share the good news. My mom was a young mom, only twenty-one at the time, and pregnant with baby number two. I’m sure she was filled with excitement and nerves all at the same time.

When my dad came home from work, my mom blurted out the news, I’m pregnant! Unfortunately, my dad’s response was less than excited. In fact, he didn’t say a word to her. He looked at her stunned and then turned around and walked out the door. I can only imagine how my mom felt standing there with no idea what my dad was thinking or when he would come back inside to give her any kind of response. After what seemed like a long time of silence, he finally walked back in the door, and the only solace he found in the fact that they were pregnant again was that this time he would get a boy. Well, we all know how that turned out!

Although only two years apart, my sister and I looked more like twins than big sis and little sis. She was super small for her age because of some health challenges, and I grew very fast, so by the time we were two and four years old, we were sharing clothes! My dad would jokingly call me Fatty Patty, always teasing me about my size. To him it was endearing, but as I grew older, these labels and seemingly innocent stories invited me to buy the lie that I was not wanted and that I was ugly. Never hearing that I was beautiful at home left me to my own demeaning thoughts, and the narrative that I played in my mind was grim. I held those thoughts deep in my soul, and I protected them and let the enemy nurture them until they became my identity.

When I was six years old, my little sister was born and brought completion to our family of five. I loved her, as we all did; however, the struggles I was having with finding my place in our family just continued to grow. I wasn’t the oldest with all the accolades and privileges, and I wasn’t the youngest being catered to. There is certainly a truth to the theories held around being a middle child. I had a constant feeling of being overlooked and unseen.

As I grew older, I discovered that bad bread was better than no bread when you are hungry, and I was starving for affirmation. Boys took notice of me at a young age, and I would fall for any guy that said the right things to me. Because of this, I found myself on a rollercoaster of constant breakups and boyfriends, chasing affirmation and giving more and more of myself away with every worthless exchange. I embodied a new false sense of control. I wouldn’t stay with anyone long enough for them to reject me. I felt as though I had to be in charge of the image I wanted to protect, even if it didn’t reflect the truth of the insecurities I held inside.

At eighteen an on-again-off-again boyfriend proposed to me, and I said yes. I wanted out of my situation. I wanted security. I wanted to feel loved. At a family dinner, we decided to share the good news, and when we did, my dad responded, in front of everyone, Why would you ever want to marry her? Heartbroken and humiliated, I barely held it together through the dinner. The walls of insecurity that had been layered brick by brick in my heart were fortified that day. I resolved to self-protect because from my perspective no one else would bring me shelter from such excruciating pain.

A profound fear that I had cradled under the surface until this point was unleashed to run wild in my mind: You are not lovable. I had heard it before lingering in my thoughts, but I had always been able to hold it at bay. Now it was out in the open, plain and simple for everyone to see.

Most of us can relate on some level to the feelings of rejection. Maybe reading my story even brought up some harsh and critical words that were said to you. Things like:

Who could ever love you?

I wish you had never been born.

You are ugly.

You are stupid.

You will never amount to anything.

Although hurtful words were said to us, they do not have to be validated by us. I can distinctly remember repeating discriminating voices over and over in my head, especially when a mirror was involved. I gave my emotions permission to take the lead when I received any type of correction or criticism, resulting in a victim mindset. Using words like I always . . . or You never . . . when thinking of myself or others affirmed every hurtful word and excused my own bad behavior because of them. I wasn’t whole in my understanding so I couldn’t comprehend that we can be emotionally aware without being emotionally driven.

The truth is, words are powerful and they can pierce us, but standing alone, these words are often a dim view of a greater story. We cannot take everything at face value. Our stories are important, but what’s even more important is the lens through which we tell these stories. Young, eighteen-year-old eyes can’t hold a holistic perspective.

Here’s a fact: I was no picnic to raise! The pain that I was fostering in private came out in some pretty ugly ways through my words and through my rebellion toward my parents. Much of my regret in life is that I was not honest with how I felt. I did not know how to articulate the things I was holding inside. By hiding hurts, I left my parents to lead me in the dark, causing me to wound the people I loved the most. What about you? Is there a part of your story that you leave out because it’s hard to admit or because you haven’t investigated the other side? Could those findings radically shape your narrative to see things differently and even possibly live differently?

The other side

With matured eyes, I can see that my parents had walked through a really tough year the year my sister was born. She had health issues, and the reality that I was coming along sooner than they had planned brought them a lot of fear. I can imagine they were battling thoughts like, Could this baby have health challenges also? How are we going to pay for another child? My parents were living paycheck to paycheck at the time, and they were drowning in debt, barely getting by.

My dad recently shared with me that he often looks back at his response to my mom’s announcement with regret of his own. He said that he allowed the fear of not being able to provide for his family to steal a moment of joy he and my mom should have been able to hold dear forever. If we are being honest, I think we all hold moments in our minds where we wish we could have a do-over!

Additionally, my parents had no idea that their continued praise of my sister and her healing story and sharing the unexpectedness of my arrival and its narrative made me feel like she was the miracle and I was the mess-up, the mistake. The opposite was actually true! My sister had such a rough first year due to her health that it was miserable for everyone, but when I came along, I was the happiest, carefree little one, and it was a redeeming time for my parents. But the enemy sure didn’t want me to hear that, so he prompted me to see the situation through a rejection filter. It’s amazing to me how twisted and distorted the enemy can make you see things when you wear a rejection filter.

Changing Your Filter

When a filter is used, it holds back impurities. The type of filter we use will determine what we ingest. Let’s also not forget that filters must be replaced to be effective. Have you ever let your air filter in your home go past its expiration date? I have, and it’s disgusting and renders the filter useless. Not changing your filter, when maturing, can cause you to consume toxic air that is detrimental to your spirit and soul. We can breathe in a toxic understanding of who we are and who God is, or we can replace our filters with a matured understanding of who we are through God’s full acceptance and love! It’s time for change so we can breathe effortlessly.

The night of my proposal dinner, my dad said some of the most hurtful words that pierced me, but were they altogether accurate in my recollection? Admittedly frustrated, my dad recalls his tone being one of a concerned father inquiring as to this boy’s intentions with me, not a careless blow to my worth. We both remember the night vividly, yet still somehow have different perceptions and emotions surrounding it. Now, as a mother of three myself, I can see why my dad was agitated by the whole situation. He was undoubtedly annoyed by the lack of wisdom that my nineteen-year-old fiancé had in his timing to ask for my hand in marriage (after he had already proposed) in mixed company, at Chili’s of all places. Not to mention the on-again-off-again relationship we had modeled since middle school! This was not the table talk any of us had envisioned for that night.

No matter what was said, or how it was said, in my dad’s heart, he knew this was not the boy for me. He rightfully believed that if we moved forward, the marriage would likely end in divorce, something he never wanted me to go through. He wanted the best for his beloved daughter, but his daughter did not know his heart. The same can be true for our heavenly Father. If we don’t accurately know His heart and His thoughts toward us, we can misinterpret moments of protection as moments of rejection.

In times of pain, we don’t reason intellectually. Instead, we irrationally make judgements that support our emotions and insecurities. Pain experienced in the midst of our brokenness does not allow us to distinguish truth from lies. If we’re secure, we can speak to our emotions by deductive reasoning and filter everything said through the truth of who God says we are. God’s truth enables us to rationalize what was said versus what was meant, what can grow us versus what can harm us, what to hold and what to throw away. In contrast, insecurity has no room for grace or the other side of things, and it never gives us any responsibility in it all. Pain sheds light on where we are healed and places we still need to become whole.

One particular day, in my early thirties, I had a rough day at work. I got in my car and cried. I heard the Holy Spirit tell me to go to my dad’s house. That was the last place I wanted to go! Nevertheless, I showed up unannounced. While sitting on my dad’s couch, I said, Dad, I don’t know why I’m here. I had a really hard day at work, and for whatever reason, the whole situation triggered me to feel like I was fifteen again. My dad looked at me and said, Celeste, can I apologize to you? I have grieved at the loss of relationship with you. The father that I thought didn’t want me had grieved for me. That day changed everything for our relationship: my perspective began to shift and my heart began to heal.

Looking back, through a filter of wisdom, I’m grateful for my childhood. There were many heroic moments that my parents played throughout my life, and most importantly, they gave me a foundation in Christ. Of course, none of this lessens the pain I experienced at the time. Please hear me when I say that there are things in my past and yours that cannot be rationalized away, as they were hurtful, whether they were done maliciously or in ignorance, but can we season them with grace? Can we marinate them in forgiveness that likely needs to be shared two ways? Can we determine in our heart to overcome them with redemption that consumes every bad intent and turns it into good?

A Dim View

Mirrors were created to aid us in our grooming process, but I would venture to say that they have vastly impaired our sight instead of improving it, imploring us to criticize, belittle and pick ourselves apart. When was the last time you looked in the mirror and said, Hello, Gorgeous! or Girl, you age like fine wine! Mirrors change our moods. We may be feeling fine, but then we glance in a mirror, which causes us to focus on ourselves and it negatively impacts our state of mind. And many times, mirrors are just not honest. Think about that department store mirror that made you look so amazing in that dress, then you got home and discovered it was all a lie! Reflections can reveal a pretty picture that is not necessarily true, but they can also reveal truths that are not necessarily a pretty picture.

In the spirit of vulnerability, here’s an honest view of my thirtieth birthday. I wasn’t looking forward to it. I didn’t want a party, as I didn’t want to celebrate. The fact is, I didn’t want to face it. I was not where I wanted to be, and more deeply, I wasn’t who I thought I should be at this juncture in my life. I still saw the same disappointment each time I would look into the mirror. No matter the promotions I had received, the value my husband placed on me or the wonderful family I had, my thoughts concerning myself stole every ounce of beauty and worth.

I woke up that birthday morning feeling unusually sore and achy. I didn’t think too much about it, and then I looked in the mirror, and with everything in me, I wanted to scream! Dark circles. Bags under my eyes so deep I could have taken a ten-day trip to Cozumel. I thought, I guess that’s it. This is what thirty looks like. I wanted to crawl back into my bed with a gallon of ice cream! But . . . emotional breakdown or not, I was still a mom, so I went on with the day, only to be both relieved and annoyed by the discovery that this wasn’t the new me. I just had the flu!

For now we see in a mirror, dimly . . .

1 Corinthians 13:12 (ESV)

You see, the mirror is a dim view of a greater story. The deeper you look, the more it reveals. My thirty-year-old self had not yet taken the courageous steps to look more intently into the spaces of pain that I had experienced in my youth. I had yet to sit on my father’s couch and hear the words of healing my heart longed for, but my time came, and that time of healing is coming for you too.

The Bible is filled with compilations of historic accounts that compel us to take a deeper look. The account of Israel is one that shows us how we become whole and how to see a reflection that brings us confidence and maturity.

The people of Israel were miraculously freed from slavery because God both heard and answered their prayers. I love that God doesn’t just hear us and leave it at that, but He answers us. As a response to their deliverance in Exodus 25, Israel began to build the tabernacle, a house for the Lord to dwell in. When you have been liberated from such cruelty, your heart longs to honor, worship, seek and hear from the One who has set you free!

Each person was asked to bring an offering from their heart to see this huge initiative accomplished. The women showed up big time. In my experience, women tend to show up big in times of crisis and need. During COVID-19, my sisters by blood and by choice lavished each other with phone calls, meals, surprise packages, drive-by parties—nothing could keep us from relationship or care in the midst of crisis. The women of Israel were no exception:

They made the bronze basin and its bronze stand from the mirrors of the women who served at the entrance to the tent of meeting. Exodus 38:8 (NIV)

At a closer look, this text indicates to us that the only group of people who were recognized for their specific gift given were the women who served at the entrance of the church. The gift that they brought was important to their history, and it was equally important to their futures. They gave their mirrors.

These mirrors were different from what you and I are used to. They were bronze mirrors that gave a blurry, unclear reflection. Contemplate this gift for one moment. The serving women of the church gave up their mirrors; they gave up their dim view of how they saw themselves to build the house of God. Let that sink in . . .

Giving up this mirror meant saying goodbye to a reflection of themselves that was built in bondage. It’s a freeing thought to no longer see the slave, but I wonder how many times, when they went back home, they reached for their mirror forgetting that they had given it away. Have you ever deleted an app from your phone because it’s been stealing your time or disturbing your peace, only to find yourself picking up your phone to scroll and remembering it’s no longer there? You gave it up, yet it’s still calling you, pulling you to give it more of yourself. In our reflection, we can still see the slave, but God has come to free the slave:

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery. Galatians 5:1( NIV)

A Mature Perspective

We had just moved, and for Mother’s Day, my kids bought me some beautiful flowers. My daughter took the roses and placed them in a charming vase and carried it over to the sink to add some water. When she did, this seemingly fine vessel began to burst, spewing water everywhere. The bottom of the vase completely broke off! We didn’t realize it had cracked on the inside during the move. It looked fine, but it wasn’t. You see, something that is broken from the inside cannot hold weighty things. It can look pretty, but it cannot be useful! You can look fine and not be fine. You can fake it through life but then break under the mildest pressure.

So often we are broken on the inside from an immature perspective of ourselves. As someone who has walked through extensive seasons of healing, bringing me into wholeness (and trust me, I haven’t arrived), I have a new perspective! I have a redeemed perspective. I have a perspective that is spiritually mature, and it started with my thinking.

When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways.

1 Corinthians 13:11 (ESV)

I have a choice in how I speak, think and reason. It doesn’t change what happened to me, how I felt or how I responded, but it can change who I am today. So much of how we see ourselves is shaped by our first eighteen years of life, but we get to decide who we become. Too many of us are walking around forty years old but feeling fifteen inside. You may be fifty, but when someone at work says something to you, it triggers shameful memories from when you were nine, causing you to retaliate or retreat.

For years, I would look in the mirror and think I was fat and ugly. Anyone that knows me and my petite stature would completely laugh at the notion, but for me, it was so real for so long. Still today, I have the choice to believe those lies that I nurtured for so long, or I can realize that the enemy manipulated my interpretation of my dad’s voice to deceive my impressionable heart.

I can effortlessly accept that I’m not lovable or I can