What's Wrong With Me?

Thinking of moments wondering what was wrong with ME. As a little girl who perceived I was not like the other kids I questioned the reason I believed that. As I look through old photos of my childhood the reality of sadness shows on my face. The photos of standing in the yard with friends as toddlers where I am crying appear as screaming crying with no consolation. Sitting on Santas lap crying. Childhood pictures of sadness and expressions of pouting are displayed on many pages of the old photo albums. Pictures in black and white look sad at best. Looking at those photos ignites the need to explore inside of my mind the stories of days gone by and the years of searching for satisfying joy and laughter and the contentment of “happy.”

My earliest memories include acceptance based on performance. It was important to find the most easter eggs, sing a song in front of visitors, family, and church crowds. Unacceptance was too much laughter, too much daydreaming, too much dancing and jumping around. Punishment came for refusing to sing and perform. Punishment came from laughing too much, bouncing around and expressing independent thoughts. Clearly in my mind I remember hearing “what’s wrong with you?” quite frequently.

I now understand what was wrong with me. It was not in my spirit to be the programmed little girl my family expected. I was fearful of punishment and judgement. I obeyed the orders with a strong willful inside rebellion. Why was I expected to be the performer, the entertainer and not allowed to be me? At age almost seventy-five my mind dreams of how successful I would have been if I had done it “my way.” What was wrong with me?

I wonder how many of you reading this have had the same thoughts. I often say I have no regrets. Honestly, I say I have no regrets for only three reasons.

Those three reasons are my daughters. Saying I have regrets for doing life the way I did would mean I would not have my beautiful daughters and grandchildren. So, for that reason I have no regrets. That does not change the heart’s desire to have done it differently. I do regret not being a better mother. Repeatedly I listened to the dictates of my family on how to be a good mother. Discipline was a huge part of raising Godly children. I did not want to discipline nor punish but was fearful I would burn in hell if I did not follow the family rules. What was wrong with me?

 I simply wanted to play. I played and had fun with my children. I was not interested in a clean house or rules. I wanted to bake cookies and play games and sing and dance. I loved sewing their clothes and mine. I did not do enough of that simply because of family and societal norms and expectations. I planned and directed musicals at church to give my children the opportunity to develop their musical and creative talents. I planned curriculum and directed teaching programs for churches so my children would have an exciting unforgettable Bible education. I was not the best mom and sometimes think I was a mean mom. That brings a tear to my eyes. What was wrong with me?

Life as a preacher’s kid (PK) and a preacher’s wife (PW) was not easy for me. I seriously felt conflicted. Life among parishioners was much different than life in the parsonage. Complexities of unaccepted, unacknowledged double standards haunted my spirit. My spirit longed to be the same no matter where I was or who I was with. The opportunities I took within the role of PK or PW to be “real” brought intense criticisms of which I had to deal with. What was wrong with me?

What was wrong with me? Absolutely nothing! What was wrong with my upbringing? Lots! Who was to blame? No one! It was the era in which many of us “baby boomers” questioned “what’s wrong with me?”  It was the era of momentous changes in the USA of which I personally longed to be a participant. I would have loved Woodstock. I would have loved to march across the bridge in Selma. I would have loved being one of the “Jesus Freaks” in California. I would have loved smoking pot, wearing no bra, and having sex on the beach with whomever I liked at the moment. Instead, I followed the family expectations and went to Bible college, married a preacher, and rode the edge of rule breaking. I wore my dresses a bit too short and a bit too low cut. I nursed my babies in public. I sang love songs more than hymns. I even dared to say shit and damn. I flirted with handsome men. I teased my husband by not wearing panties to church. I sensuously ate my ice cream cones. I wore sexy bikinis. What was wrong with me? Absolutely nothing!

When I left the role of Preacher Wife behind, I met Jesus! I learned to love Him more by learning to love myself. I learned I was more than performance! I was a caregiver, and beautiful without the frills. I was valued for the person God had created me to be. I had no more rules to break because Jesus set me free! I was free to be me! The “what is wrong with me?” was gone. Life became much simpler. Praying in a sweat lodge brought a closeness to Creator I had never felt in a church building. Singing prayers with moanings and groanings brought a peace that passed understanding knowing the Spirit took those moanings and groanings to the Father. Everything changed. What was wrong with me? Absolutely nothing! Exiting legalism and expectations of others was the gift of FREEDOM! Free to love me! Free to love others. Free to love the Lord my God. Free to love and accept those who look different, act different, live different, believe different is the Jesus way. What is wrong with me? Absolutely nothing!

Funny how this does not sound like a “Funny Gram”!

Janie Roberts Davis 03/23/2025