Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

You’re Not the Man (Or Father) Who Left You

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By all accounts I grew up in a wonderful, loving home. My Daddy was the sort of protective guy who threatened the fella who took me on my first real date that he’d break his legs if he acted inappropriate, drank alcohol while driving, or brought me home past curfew. At the time I remember feeling kinda embarrassed, but honestly, and deep down, I recall feeling like I was floating out the door on a cloud. And it wasn’t because the star quarterback was taking me out to a movie. It was because I knew my Dad really loved me. Yet still…

As the years went by I would grow up always needing that feeling, that emotion that told me I was loved, I was worthy, that I was something special. I was always that clingy girlfriend that asked “whatcha thinking” in the hopes the guy would answer back he was thinking about me. I was the girl who ended up giving her body away, over and over, in an attempt to feel beautiful, desirable, and precious in some sorta way. I craved love like most craved water. Even though I’d grown up adored by my mother and adoptive father, it still wasn’t enough. For some crazy reason it’s the people that don’t love you that stick with you the most. I wish that wasn’t so.

My biological father had left numerous times, but the last being when I was seven. When my mother remarried, and later my Dad wanted to adopt me, it seemed that my biological dad had no problem relinquishing his parental rights. On the surface I was thrilled to have a present father who cared so much for me, and even in my heart I was glad. But deep down, in those dark, rooted places I was hurt. Rejection like a knife dug inside me, the blade turning cruelly back and forth.

Even as an adult woman, the little girl inside me would ask in the night, “why was I so easy to give up? What is it about me that made not loving me so easy?!”

I didn’t want to feel that way! I never wanted to play the victim, and during my brave times I would vehemently deny any hurt or feelings of abandonment and unworthiness. I would play strong, and I would play it well. But in retrospect I can see that the pain caused by the man who leaves you is like a scab that never really heals. It looks fine from a distance, but if you get up close and personal you can see it’s all red, soft, and missing pieces. For so long my heart was like that. Missing pieces.

It wasn’t like it healed properly either. It just set up a cycle. A cycle of me searching for love in all the wrong places, seeking acceptance and affection, creating my personality based on the people around me, people pleasing, never being true to myself, and erroneously basing my self worth on how someone else felt about me.

I recently was talking about divorce with my aunt, and I mentioned how it took years to get over the pain of a broken marriage. Even though my life had moved on, I can still recall one day, three years status post divorce, wondering what it was about me that made my ex-husband want to leave me. A happy second marriage with a great guy, an adorable daughter in my arms, and for some strange reason that little girl inside me would rear her head and ask again, “what was it about me that made not loving me so easy?”

I had spent over thirty years thinking I was the man (or men) who left me. That my identity was somehow built around that. The devil had spent years whispering in my ear that I was the girl who was easy to give up, that I was the awkward teen who got dumped the week of prom, that I was the one-night-stand, that I was the woman whose husband left her, that I was anything but who I really was. Somewhere between knowing about God and really getting to know Him I discovered something. I discovered that I wasn’t the man who left me; I was the creation that God made me to be. My identity wasn’t based on what man or the world said, but what the Lord said about me. His Word sang it over and over to my broken heart, and the more I listened to His song, the more I believed it, the more I healed, and the more able I was to see myself through His eyes.

God said I was His workmanship (Ephesians 2:10), That He knew me before He formed me (Jeremiah 1:5), that I was chosen (1 Peter 2:9), that He had a great future in mind for me (Jeremiah 29:11), that I was adopted (Romans 8:14-15), that I was redeemed and His (Isaiah 43:1), that I was wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14), that I was holy and beloved (Colossians 3:12), that I was created after the likeness of God (Ephesians 4:24), that I was the work of His hand (Isaiah 64:8), that I was precious in His eyes, honored, and He loved me (Isaiah 43:4), that He had numbered every tear I had ever shed (Psalm 56:8), that He rejoiced over me (Zephaniah 3:17), and that I was worth dying for (John 3:16)!

It was a long journey I took from rejection to redemption, but once I saw the truth of who I was in Christ, I never fell for the lie that I was who the world labeled me to be. My identity was in Jesus, I was righteous, totally and completely loved, despite my faults, and I realized that love would never fail me.

What Does Your Wardrobe Choice Imply?

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Yesterday I was enjoying lunch with my family in the food court of the mall, and as I ate a fabulous steak sub I surveyed my surroundings. Before long a lovely, young girl passed by my table, and I had to do a double-take. I probably would have noticed her anyway as she radiated a glowing beauty, but I could hardly keep my eyes on her gorgeous face for what she was wearing. 

“Hey, honey. Look.” I said to my husband. It’s not that I wanted to point out a half-naked stranger, but I seriously couldn’t believe my eyes. And I knew my husband would recognize the top this young lady was wearing. It just so happened to be identical to a piece of lingerie I owned. 

So she was wearing a lace undergarment as a top. No biggee. I got it. I mean I did grow up in the eighties and nineties. I had lived through fads of wearing your underwear as outerwear, and I wasn’t sure if Madonna had brought it back again (after all, she still rocked it out at 56), but that wasn’t what really bothered me anyway. 

And it wasn’t that I was envious as some might assume. I may have mothered a couple of kiddos, but as a fit and trim size four with an ample bosom I could still pull off sexy, no problem. I just saved it for my bedroom by choice. But I hadn’t always been that way. 

Sure enough, when I was this young lady’s age I was a huge fan of anything low-cut, belly-baring, or super short. I was a fan of halter tops, daisy dukes, and teenie, tiny string bikinis. I liked feeling beautiful, and feeling like heads turned when I walked into a room. And since my chest size didn’t match my affection for v-neck tops, well, I went ahead and took care of that little procedure too. So I understood.

But somewhere along the way I learned a thing or two. Or three. I discovered that dressing scantily got me plenty of attention, but perhaps not the kind I desired. Why in the world would the guy I just met assume I was eager to jump in the sack?! Was it the fact that I had my body on display like I wanted to give it away? It’s not rocket science folks. 

So maybe I sound like a fuddy-duddy, prude, but perhaps I’m just speaking common sense, matter-of-fact truth. The reality is that if you wear your lingerie out in public you might give off the impression that you’re ready to go to bed. If you wear a neckline that dips down to your navel you shouldn’t expect a man to look into your eyes. If you decide on attire that doesn’t reflect a respect of your own body and self-worth then don’t expect someone else to do otherwise. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look pretty, but when you leave nothing to the imagination then understand you’ll draw attention that has a short span. You’ll attract someone with your flesh who is only interested in your flesh. End of story. 

If you desire someone who is attracted to your inner beauty then put that foot forward first. It’s hard to get to know someone’s interests and dreams if you’re distracted by the curve of their buttocks hanging out of their shorts. 

And another thought is why do women feel they must always dress sexy to impress a man? This stigma and expectation isn’t placed on men. I mean can you imagine if a blind date showed up in denim cut-offs?

I’m of the opinion that if you respect your own body you will treat it as the precious treasure it is meant to be, and as such you won’t place it on display for every Tom, Dick, and Harry to ogle at with lust. It cheapens you more than you know. I didn’t always realize this, but after years of drawing the wrong attention I now know it’s true. 

But by all means if your aim is to appear the opposite, as if you don’t respect your personal body, and you don’t mind if people undress you with their eyes, then may I suggest Frederick’s of Hollywood. They have some amazingly small articles of fabric that are sure to draw the attention of a man who will use you, disrespect you as a woman, and then laugh about you to their friends. Harsh, I know, but the truth is just that. 

Or you could just save the lingerie for the bedroom. 

May I suggest instead clothing choices that make you feel pretty, but don’t draw people’s attention from your true beauty to your cleavage. 

What does your wardrobe choice imply? Does it suggest you’re worth getting to know better, or worth a one-night stand? Does it suggest you’re looking for a meaningful relationship, or a quick boffing in the backseat? Does it draw attention to your personality or your legs? Does it imply a respect and pride in yourself, or does it suggest a desire to attract attention at any cost?

Because what you wear does matter. People are human, and they will judge you on your appearance, and while the opinion of others doesn’t matter the most, it does matter a bit when it reflects poorly on you as an individual who is truly precious and deserving of respect. 

So the next time you dress to impress, look in the mirror and ask yourself exactly what your attire suggests. 

  • As a final note, I want to add that anything written above is motivated by love, and although it might seem harsh it is only because I truly wish someone could have spoken this to me twenty years ago. My hope is always to prevent the hurt in someone else that I have suffered in the past.