The Balancing Act

I feel comically misshapen by my Enneagram profile sometimes—meaning, it would be funny if it wasn’t such a painful condition. When any criticism—especially serious criticism about core identity—is levied against me, I go into a process not unlike the Rack (yes, the medieval torture device). 

My Ennegram 2 is pulling me towards love and requiring of me whatever needs to happen to give as well as to retain it. It involves an intense battle with vulnerabilities and doubts about my value, worth, and lovability. This seems to be just what it means to be me. I can recognize and strategize how to cope with it in a healthy way, but I can’t seem to fundamentally change that reality. 

My strong 1-Wing throws me into deep and obsessive analysis about the circumstance in question, picking apart the situation and myself to find the imperfection, and to know the “right answer,” because surely every situation has a black and white answer, and I must know and choose the right one! In this process, every criticism is given a great deal of weight.

 I blame the 4 on my arrow line for my hardcore devotion to truth and the agonizing drive to act authentically and to be seen and understood as that Self. It is unbelievably painful when that doesn’t happen, so all the while that I’m seek­ing to make sense of a situation and decide what move to make (one that won’t compromise the love I'm receiving, of course), the 8 on my arrow line is fighting in explosive bouts of indignation as it stands over the woundedness in my heart like a bear over her young. 

It is very disorienting and gives me a real sense of the phrase "bent out of shape.”

I am misshapen. 
I am imperfect.
I am self-serving and prideful and my intentions are impure.  

I have wrestled much with the correlation between my art and the reaction of the all-important Audience. I struggle endlessly with the fact that the Viewer’s opinion holds so much weight for me, despite this exchange of value being an obviously flawed system. No matter how many times I tell myself that I am valuable and my work is beautiful and worthy, the reaction of Audience can undo those words in a heartbeat. I can intend to create and be satisfied with my creation apart from how it is received, but I forever long to hear the words "well done," which effectively mean to me, “you are valuable” or “you are loved.” I can’t hear it enough. I am insecure. I seek that message and often compromise my­self or my art to get it. 

I believe art is the story of a life, so it's no wonder that I feel that drive, that pressure, on all levels of my existence in the world. Do people perceive me as loving? Sincere? Authentic? Generous? Sacrificial hospitable welcoming intelligent creative…worthy?

These are the things I believe to be a part of me and want to be seen by others. One word of doubt or question about these core identifiers sends me into a nose-dive. If folks don’t see these things then what am I?

Not just in art, but in life as a whole, I want to have a foundation that can with­stand the ebbs and flows of public (or my own personal) opinion about my value. I want to stand on unchangeable ground that is not altered at all by outside forces. I know of no firmer place than an identity as a loved child of a God who is herself the embodiment of Love. If that is where I am rooted, then it doesn't really matter what winds blow through my world, and I am free to admit that, in the words of my Anglican liturgy,

“I have sinned in thought, word, and deed. 
By what I have done
and by what I have left undone. 
I have not loved you with my whole heart. 
I have not loved my neighbor as my­self.”

I am still so often caught in this push and pull of self-justification. This endless battle to prove myself right and just and worthy. When I can believe the worthiness factor to be a set and immovable reality, it will no longer be death to admit that it is true or at the very least possible that I have sinned against and hurt others. That I need to apologize and reconcile and renew. 

For most of my years, I have lived a life that was small and quiet. I did not want to do or say anything that would intention­ally or unintentionally lead to damaged love and the need for apology. I was afraid of compromising the love I was receiving and I was prideful. I still am these things, but as I break free into a much more expansive self, daring to take up space and air, they are no longer my only driving forces. The fear that kept my life so muted was not unfounded: the more I stretch out my limbs and run headlong into the world, the more possibility there is of breaking dishes and trampling feelings and taking missteps. There is far more requirement to recognize failure and to mend things. This process is very new to me and—as I suspected all that time beforehand—it is supremely uncomfortable. 

Inhabiting this expanded life is requiring two essential things: 

believing I am unequivocally secure in a love that is untouched by my accomplishments or my failures (it depends on neither, but merely exists)

accepting my imperfections and acting with humility to address the consequences of them.

A beauty of the Enneagram is that activating every part of the unique self at once can create a balanced, geometric shape. For me, I think this looks like fighting to protect the wounded, whether that is others or the child within (8); unapologetically being my authentic self (4) as I live out the big heart and passion­ate service that flows from my core (2); and accepting that the love I seek is mine through the perfection (1) imparted to me through the gift of Christ.

Those faults and flaws people see in me are real.
I have made messes and I have caused wounds.
I am a beautiful, loved Being. Then, now, forever.

“Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end."