Lent Day 27: Seeing Clearly, Becoming Whole

"We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are." – Anaïs Nin

When I started writing these Lenten reflections, I didn’t really know how it would shake out. I thought I’d try to be funny—bring some levity to my own human failings. I figured it could be a space to process, vent, maybe get a few chuckles. But over time, it became something else. A journal. A log. A running commentary on what’s going on in my heart and in the world around me. A record, maybe, for my own sake—but also a mirror for others who’ve been feeling the same way and haven’t found the words yet.

So here we are. Day 27. Most of the time I just tell you what’s been rattling around in my brain, not necessarily what I’ve been doing. It might look like verbal diarrhea (and, let’s be real, sometimes it is), but there’s intention behind it. There’s always intention.

A lot of what I write feels deeply personal, but it’s also political. It’s also spiritual. Because these days, they’re all braided together. My anxiety about what’s happening in this country. My grief about relationships that didn’t last. My confusion about what’s next. My fierce belief in justice. My complicated relationship with God.

Sometimes I look around and wonder—how did we get so far off track? Why are cruelty and indifference becoming so normalized? We’ve got politicians playing Hunger Games with our lives, cutting funding for education, housing, healthcare…while giving billionaires tax breaks for private jets. We’re tired. We’re trying to survive. And yet, somehow, we’re still expected to smile, post selfies, and pretend we’re not watching the slow unraveling of a nation.

And in the midst of all of that, I’m trying to remember who I am.

Most people in Rochester know me for my work. Social justice, community advocacy, politics. And that’s fine. That’s one part of me. But the public Vangie and the private Vangie? They’re not always the same person. There are so many parts of myself I’ve kept tucked away—on purpose.

Because I’ve also been hurt. Betrayed. Misunderstood. Projected onto. Used.

I used to think I was my work. That the only way I could feel worthy was through productivity. Through purpose. Through proving myself. But that’s not true. That was never true. And letting go of that identity—untangling my worth from what I do—has been messy. But it’s also been holy.

We are not just our jobs. Or our relationships. Or the roles we fill.

We are the accumulation of all the people we’ve been and all the people we’re still becoming.

I’m not just the little girl who had to stay strong when she wanted to cry.

I’m not just the baby gay learning how to walk through the world without apology.

I’m not just the woman who’s loved and lost and loved again.

I’m not just the organizer or the strategist or the speaker behind the mic.

I’m all of those things. And more. And so are you.

We live in a society that wants quick definitions. “What do you do?” “Who are you with?” “What’s your title?” As if that sums us up.

But identity is fluid. Healing is non-linear. Self-worth can’t be measured by titles or relationship status or what we checked off a to-do list today.

Psalm 139:1-3 says:

“You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.

You know when I sit and when I rise;

You perceive my thoughts from afar.

You discern my going out and my lying down;

You are familiar with all my ways.”