“You Can’t.” 

Words that ignored my desires, words that crushed my spirit.

“You Can’t.” 

Those were the words spoken to me over and over in my life.

You can’t be a chef.

You can’t go off to college.

You can’t be a camp counselor.

You can’t write about certain things.

You can’t have your mail until I read it.

You can’t move away.

You can’t date.

You can’t listen to secular music.

You can’t have a big wedding.

You can’t go to the public school.

You can’t raise your hand to say you feel called to missions.

You can’t be alone in your room.

You can’t be who you are.  You can’t do what you want.

She didn’t explicitly say those last two things, but that was the sum result of all the heartless words she did say.  Those limitations on my life are seared on my brain.

The words clumped on my soul, like buckets of dirt poured out.  They buried me in despair, giving me a sense of aimlessness.  I didn’t do my best in high school, because I was only going to community college.  What was the point?  Everyone gets in.  My life yawned out ahead of me, completely blank.

I had no realistic dreams, no vision for who I could be, what my life would look like.  It seems like everyone has hopes and dreams and aspirations, and I had none.  I had wishes.  I wish my life was like that, or, I wish I could do that, but I know I can’t.

I never had any picture of what my life as an adult would look like, because my life as a teen was built on “you can’t.”  I never dreamed about a wedding because I never dreamed about being engaged.  I never dreamed about my future because I was so consumed with surviving the present.

I counted down the months until I turned 18 and graduated high school.  Which would have been a normal person’s escape, except my mom felt that even though the government says you’re an adult at 18, if you still lived under her roof, you were still a child and had to obey.

I hated conflict, so I just did what she said because I couldn’t handle standing up to her.

In a bizarre twist on gratitude, I got pregnant after high school.  We got married a year and a half later, which let me finally escape to a home of my own.  Is it strange that I’m thankful for something most people would think of as ruining their lives, because it saved mine?

Over the next 10 years, I grew and matured, read Boundaries and Velvet Elvis.  My view of God changed and I began finding freedom in faith.  I realized that so much of what I grew up with was unhealthy and dysfunctional.

And then I realized that my mom wasn’t the only person to use ‘you can’t’.

You can’t be a feminist.

You can’t support equality.

You can’t be in charge at church.

You can’t talk about certain topics.

You can’t read those books.

You can’t listen to that music.

You can’t wear those clothes.

You can’t question that doctrine.

You can’t be who you are.  You can’t do what you want.

I have spent my whole life being told by nearly all the major forces in my life that I can’t be who I was made to be.

A large exception to that was my dad.  I’m sure when he took me out for coffee once a week, he didn’t know what a huge impact he was making on me.  But his affirming words, his belief that I had gifts and could do whatever I set my mind too, buried themselves deep inside.  It is only now, as I have been relearning the truth of who I am, that I realize how important those seeds he planted were.  As I build a new foundation of worth, the cornerstone are those words, spoken years ago.

And though I tend to wave his words away under the guise of love is blind, my husband’s steady support and affirmation of who I am as a person has also been a healing gift.  He has seen me go from a quiet, insecure, needy person to one slowly becoming more confident, more sure.  He cheers me on as I learn that actually, yes, I can.  I am capable and able of doing many things.  He has been patient with me as I’ve had to learn a healthy way of communicating.

It has been these two men, and countless authors and their books, who have affirmed to me what it means to be accepted, unconditionally loved.  It has been books and blogs, words upon words that have told me that yes, I can.

The strength of words is powerful.  Like raindrops on a tin roof, the steady drum of words an either be beautiful or abrasive.

When lies are spoken to us by authority figures, they hang themselves around our necks like the millstones they are.  I was drowning in a sea of insecurity.

If we are not surrounded by people who speak image-bearing truth into our lives, we need to seek them out.  Find people who recognize our worth and potential.  Who speak truth and life when we believe the lies.  Our souls crave goodness and truth.  We need to hear over and over that we have value.  We need to be reminded that we are made in the image of God and were created to do good works.

Living from a place of fear makes us prone to controlling other people.  If we live afraid their questions might lead to ungodly beliefs, we’ll tell them not to talk about that.  If we fear they might upset our understanding of the Bible, we’ll tell them it’s wrong to believe that.

Living from a place of “you can’t,” is a graceless way of life.  It isn’t trusting that God is making something beautiful out of a life.  Saying “you can’t,” limits love and acceptance.  Because, what if they do?  What if they dare to do that thing, believe that doctrine, ask that question?  They will hide, because they know they won’t be understood and accepted.  We rope off our ability to love and show grace when we limit people.

When we tell people what they can and cannot do, we make ourselves the god of their lives.  We ignore the truth of who they are.  We crush souls, deny identity, ignore personality, and ultimately reveal a loveless view of their humanity. 

We are called to do the opposite.  We are to be people who speak life and give light.  We remind each other that we are imago dei, and that the Divine has a vision for all of us.

It’s a beautiful vision that says, “Yes, you can.”