When I was little girl, my father always told me stories to help me fall asleep. One of my favorites was about a small cottage that was being repaired. The worker kicked down doors and took away walls, till the cottage felt so broken it could no longer recognize itself. When the worker finally finished repairing the house, it discovered that the worker had made it a mansion.
Around that age, I decided I wanted to dance.
I was supposed to become a professional dancer in California, to go to college, and join a company. My life was 8 hour practices and sweat and worn canvas shoes. Dance was my reason for living, and sometimes, the reason I wanted to stop existing.
Dance defined me.
Then I got injured. Fell behind. Got injured. Fell further behind. I wasn’t skinny enough for the part, my feet to flat to dance.
Then I tried to end my life.
From the pieces, I realized that as passionate I was about dance, it wasn’t making me happy. I needed balance.
Today, I’m in Malaysia as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, which is so far from where I expected to be. To others, it is career suicide but devoting myself to the happiness of others for a year and a half is my saving grace. In a different country living a completely different life, I am experiencing more about the Human Condition than I ever did in the hollowed studios of California.
I don’t know what my future holds, what my career as a dancer will become. But I can feel God slowly breaking down my walls not just to repair me, but to make me something far more than I could have become on my own.
I have come to know that in God’s eyes, I am enough. I am worth it. And I am happy.