The Power of "Me Too"

Thank God it's Friday. I believe we have been enjoying the goodness of God in our life. I got this mail from in(courage) and I just feel this is meant for someone out there and it will be so selfish of me to keep it to myself. You won't regret the read at all. Enjoy this article by Mary Carver...

She heard me say that I lose my patience and my temper much too often — and that my daughter knows the words to more pop songs than I'd like, and that I know which fast food restaurants have the best toys. She heard me admit those things and her response, unspoken at first, was palpable.

She was relieved.

I don't know if this new friend struggles with her temper or cooking dinner Every Single Night, but I know she's real. I know she's not perfect, that she's human — just like me. I know because I saw it on her face, but more importantly, I know because she told me.

She said, "Me, too."

And just like that, with two little words, a connection was made and two women were incredibly encouraged. She was encouraged to hear someone else confess the shortcomings she saw in her own life, the struggles she faced every day. And I was encouraged (and relieved!) to hear someone else admit that I wasn't the only one both imperfect enough to fall short in these ways and brave enough to say so out loud.

Some days it feels like many of us are working a full-time job in image management. I've put in those hours for sure, but never do I get a paycheck for my efforts.

I shush my daughter when she makes innocent but embarrassing comments in public.
I keep my windows rolled up in the carpool line because my toddler won't stop screaming.
I panic every time someone visits my house because it's never big enough or clean enough.

Who am I hiding from? And why?

Last week I joined Weight Watchers. Or, rather, I re-joined. I've been a member at least a dozen times over the past dozen years. It works when I do, so you can do the math, right? But I'm trying again! And as I sat in my first-this-time-around meeting, I remembered why I keep coming back.

Obviously, I go back to the same program because I still need to lose weight and because I believe in the program. But the biggest benefit to walking through the door in that strip mall is the group of women and men walking through the door with me. The strength of this program is not its recipes or leaders or calculators or frozen dinners.

Its power comes from the "me, too."

Just like many struggles, weight is hard to talk about. It's shameful and scary to admit what brought me to this number on the scale, this size on my pants, this string of habits in my life. But surrounded by people who say, "Me, too," it's a little easier.

I've been to enough Weight Watchers meetings to know that the "me, too" conversations — while meaningful and often life-changing — tend to stay on the lighter side of things.

I love chocolate — me, too.
I hate exercising — me, too.
I want to be a good role model for my kids — me, too.
I'm embarrassed to go to my reunion like this – me, too.

But last week? My first week back, was intense. After one woman had shared that she is inspired to work harder after hearing about a friend's weight loss success and another told us that she'd lost enough weight that her doctor had taken her off blood pressure medication, a woman sitting alone in the front row spoke up.

She confessed that after a medical scare and a lecture from her doctor about losing weight, she went home and ordered a large pizza — and then ate the entire thing.

The room was quiet for a moment, most of us stunned a bit by her harsh delivery of the story. Nobody admits something like that calmly or smoothly. But before she could take another ragged breath, she heard what I heard: ME, TOO. People all around the room were encouraging her, saying they've done the same, that they understood.

They said, "Me, too."

Now, maybe eating an entire pizza isn't your issue. Maybe you don't struggle with weight and can't identify with that part of my story. But I'm willing to bet you've got something. And, just like I do with my messy house and tantrum-throwing kids and lazy nights on the couch and piles of laundry and the candy bar I bought in line at the grocery store, I bet you'd rather not let anyone see your something.

Maybe . . . maybe your something is even deeper than crumbs on the dining room floor or yoga pants worn every day of the week. Maybe you struggle with anger or forgiveness, and you hold onto hurts from years past or even everyday slights. Maybe you face insecurity and envy every time you log onto Facebook or visit with friends. Maybe your marriage is shiny smiles on the outside but dusty and cracked on the inside, breaking your heart in ways nobody can see. Maybe your debt is overwhelming your budget and your bank account — and your hope. Maybe you're reeling from a diagnosis, afraid to go to sleep because it might still be true when you wake up. Maybe you can't remember the last time you spent quiet time with the Lord and prayers seem to hit an invisible ceiling.

We all have something. Most of us have lots of somethings. And you don't have to broadcast them to the world. You don't have to tell 30 people that you ate a whole pizza. But what would happen if you told one person about the real you and the real struggles you face?

Darkness can't live in the light, and sharing our darkness inevitably brightens and lightens what seemed impenetrable and all-encompassing. And you never know who else is carrying the same burden. You just might find that you share your something and hear those powerful two words capable of flooding your heart and someone else's with hope and encouragement: "Me, too."

> "A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated,
> but two can stand back-to-back and conquer.
> Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken."
> {Ecclesiastes 4:12, NLT}

What difference could "Me, too" make in your life today?

Coined: Incourage