Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. Philippians 3:13-14
When I was a child, what I wanted to do more than anything was become a writer. And now—after a lifetime of reading and writing and a long stint as a writing professor, here I am.
The Words That Carried Weight
Last week I was sitting in my little room in the attic, trying to get some work done before I started a video conference. I realized I’d forgotten to bring paper with me, and I can’t manage to work without having paper and pen handy. I poked around at some of the things I have stored in the attic and found a notebook.
It was the notebook I used for my American lit class in my senior year of college in 1988.
I leafed through the notebook to find where my last page of notes was in hopes that there would be enough paper left for what I needed to do. And right in the middle of the notebook, I found something that shook me.
It was one of the papers I’d written for that class.
In quite a few of my literature classes, my writing had been used as an example of a good paper. I’d earned mostly As and a few Bs. I still remember the “Wow!” I received at the end of a paper I’d written for another class.
But I couldn’t seem to write well for this class. I hadn’t thought about that for years, but I discovered that I hadn’t forgotten.
The grade on this particular paper was a C-. I remembered that my first paper had been a C+. I remembered going to speak to the professor after this paper to try to find out what I had done wrong or what I had missed. I didn’t remember a thing about that conversation, but I did remember feeling relieved that I didn’t cry until after I’d left his office.
His comments in the margins were critical of my wording, my structure, and my ideas.
Here’s what he had written at the end of my paper:
You should be writing A papers, not C papers. You are too competent to write papers like this! I assumed the first paper was not typical of your writing—obviously I was wrong. It may be too late to suggest that you do something to bring your ability with papers into line with your perception and intelligence—but why not try.
I could feel the sting of tears in my eyes sitting at my desk in the attic.
In my years of college writing, this was the only class where I received negative feedback.
But this professor’s harsh words carried so much weight that the feelings they left behind floated right to the surface when I encountered them again so many years later.
In that moment, all sorts of thoughts popped up in my head:
I’m such a failure.
I’m never going to be a writer.
Why did I ever think I could write?
I’m going to fail at writing and won’t succeed. I should withdraw my application to grad school.
They were the exact same thoughts that had flooded my mind and heart 33 years ago when I first read my professor’s comments. It was like a script from long ago, with just one cue—the professor’s end note—reminding me of all the lines that would come next in my mind.
Battling the Messages
After a few minutes I pulled myself together, but I had to tackle those negative thoughts with the truth I know today:
I’m not a failure.
I am a writer.
I thought I could write because I could, and I still can.
I passed the class, graduated, and went on to earn a graduate degree in writing. I taught writing, and now I write.
After the tears stopped, I started to feel a little self-righteous. In the 25+ years I spent as a writing professor I never would have written anything so rude on a student’s paper. I remembered how difficult it was to decipher this professor’s writing assignments. I remembered that I wasn’t the only student who was shocked to receive low grades after several years of writing papers that earned high grades. I also remembered how those words made me question myself and my writing for several years, even after I completed graduate school and began teaching writing.
Just for a brief moment in the attic, I believed the comments on the paper, just as I had so long ago. Then I pointed my fingers at the professor so I could blame him for my grade—and for how I was feeling about myself.
Had I let them, this professor’s words could have become a barrier. I could have let them convince me to back out of the video chat, thinking I clearly didn’t have anything to contribute to the conversation. I could have let those words tell me that I should just take down all my blogs.
But then I took a deep breath, reminding myself that someone else’s words don’t create my identity as a human or as a writer.
As much as his words hurt, they didn’t define me.
His words don’t truly matter.
I write because it is what God called me to do. His words are the only ones that matter.
Messages About Sexuality
How many of us have experienced something similar in the sexual arena?
Instead of messages written by a professor on a paper, we’ve absorbed other messages:
I am not enough—not pretty enough, not sexual enough, not thin enough or curvy enough, not selfless enough, or not lovable enough.
My God-designed natural ways of feeling sexual are wrong, and unless our sexual response works like a man’s, we’re broken.
I am frigid in the bedroom, or I’m too much.
Maybe we haven’t even heard these messages for many years . . .
. . . but the thoughts and feelings those words elicited so long ago may still be there, floating closer to the surface than we may realize.
All it takes is a phrase, or an image online, or the look on our husband’s face, to bring the tears back to our eyes and make us feel less-than, too much, or not enough.
Just one cue reminds us of the script from long ago.
A loving husband may try to fill you up with positive and encouraging messages—but when these ancient scripts begin to replay in our minds, a husband’s good messages can easily be drowned out. And a husband who isn’t in a loving frame of mind can magnify those old scripts.
We are reminded of the negative messages, and just for a moment we may believe something that isn’t true. And we may blame others for how we feel about ourselves.
It is easy to let those messages become a barrier—as the first 19 years of my marriage testify. We can let the ancient scripts convince us to back away from our husbands, to suppress our sexuality, to hide our bodies and our hearts, to think that we are doomed to fail at this whole marriage thing.
Battling the Ancient Scripts
In those moments, we need to take a deep breath and remind ourselves: Those ancient messages don’t tell us who we truly are.
Messages about our beauty or bodies don’t define our sexual attractiveness.
Messages about our personalities don’t define our lovability.
Messages about our sexual response don’t define our sexuality.
Those messages may sting, just as they have for years, but they do not define us—not as women and not as wives.
And not as beloved daughters of God.
No one else’s words create your identity. The work of the cross did that for you.
You are an image-bearer.
You are a recipient of the single greatest act of love in the history of forever.
God’s words are the ones that truly matter.
What are the ancient scripts that trip you up in your faith journey, your marriage, or your sex life? What helps you overcome the messages that could hold you back?
See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! 1 John 3:1a
I guess when I looked at the professors comments I saw something different. I saw a professor that (maybe a bit rudely) said – I think you can do better. You are too competent (good) to be writing this poorly. You are perceived to be great, you are perceived to be intelligent and I think you are, but your writing is not showing it, so why not try. Maybe that motivated you in a weird way to be a better writer.
Maybe you saw something better in yourself when you decided to work on your love life, I can be great, I can be awesome!
And I think sometimes we can do better, we are more intelligent, we are great, but we just don’t do it, whether it is sex or what ever.
Love your writing Chris and glad you did not give up!
I briefly wondered if that’s what he was saying, so I looked at the marginal comments and at his comments on my previous paper. It is possible that his intention had been to encourage, but his tone was pretty rude in totality. Mainly I was stunned that all these years later, those words could summon the exact same feelings to me. I’m glad I didn’t give up. I helped a lot of students get a good start on their own writing, and I probably was a better teacher because of this professor’s comments. I tried hard to always make at least one really positive comment and to never follow it with “but.”
As a response to a teachers criticism….
There’s an old joke among the professional piloting community, that stems from the stereotypical teacher’s critique…. “No one is going to pay you to sit there staring out of the window”.
The answer is, “I guess I showed her!”
LOL.