Imagine Me-- Revisited

Imagine me, loving what I see when the mirror looks at me, cause I imagine me in a place with no insecurities and I’m finally happy because I imagine me. Letting go of all of the ones who hurt me cause they never did deserve me. . . Kirk Franklin, "Imagine Me"

June 2008 was spent crying in a corner cubicle in the Forest Park Library. My routine was the same: Get up, pack my Barbri books, limp to the campus library, put on my music, and sob uncontrollably. I sang. I cried. I felt sorry for myself. I hit replay. I repeated the words over and over again. I repeated, but didn’t believe. I sang the words, tears streaming, hoping the words would seep deep in to my broken spirit. Gone. Gone. All gone. I didn’t believe the physical and emotional pain, the feelings of low self esteem, transferred disappoints and hurts, would ever leave. My wounds were raw, open, and healing seemed so far away. The July bar exam was a month away and I was dealing with a terrible breakup, wisdom tooth pain, and unbeknown to me, a broken foot. The summer of 2008 taught me valuable lessons about life.

I learned:

That love is not enough. Sometimes people fall out of love and there is no use in hashing and rehashing what you did, what you said, how you could have been better. Love seems to always end at the most inopportune times. Inopportune, because when you’re the one getting dumped, the time is never right. People can be mean and selfish. A breakup is a selfish act. There’s nothing wrong, but the person is taking care of themselves. They want to be free, and you must let go. You have to be selfish in taking care of yourself by not trying to find the answer if there is no clear one.

I learned:

That in a world of doubt, my mother has, and will continue to be my constant supporter. When I went to her and told her I wanted to sit out the exam for a second time, she said four simple words, “You can do it.” My mother believed in me when I didn’t. In a summer full of people questioning whether or not I was meant to be a lawyer, if I had what it took to pass the bar exam, or even, after having dealt with an ugly breakup, if I was mentally ready to tackle such a huge task. I have since appreciated my mother more. I no longer take her for granted, and I am forever indebted to her for her faith in me when I had none.

I learned:

With help from others that when you continue to do the same things over and over again, and you don’t like the results, do something different. You can’t change your life instantly, but you can slowly make small changes that, in time, change the course of your life. I began with my approach to the exam. I didn’t make outlines and I didn’t spend three months studying. I made up a 30 day study plan. I began each session by writing. "I will pass the exam!" on a sheet of paper. I then taped the paper on the cubicle. Every time I looked up, I saw the phrase. I had to teach myself to believe in me. I memorized the Conviser verbatim in the morning, and took practice MBEs and essays in the evenings at the library. I didn’t study at home. When I was done on campus, I left the bar behind. I would tell anyone that the bar is less about what you know, and more about how you take the test. Everyone’s approach is different and you have to figure out what works best for you.

I learned:

To really trust in God. As a child I was raised in a Christian home, and the idea was simple in theory, but that summer really forced me to look deep into my soul for faith and trust in God. It’s easy to have faith in God when things are going exactly as you want them. It is during the challenges—during life’s darkest and most difficult moments that you must hold on. I was a child in the dark--holding and grasping on to anything: scriptures, sermons, healing songs over and over again until the thoughts penetrated my soul. I imagined me whole in who I was-- license or not. I imagined me happy with who God made me, experiences and all, and most importantly I imagined me loving myself completely, flaws and all.