How a Cupcake Doll Led Me to Forgive

Who remembers the Cupcake Dolls, circa like, 1990? The ones that were folded up like precious little cupcakes and then when you unfolded them, they turn into the cutest little scented doll?

One of the first times I can remember hating my dad was when I was about five or six years old. My dad was trying to teach my stubborn self how to ride a bike with no training wheels and for the life of me, I couldn't figure it out. He lost patience, I quit trying, and a storm rolled in... literally and figuratively. As the winds picked up and the rain began to pour, he told me that I wasn't allowed inside until I had figured out how to ride that damn bike without any training wheels, and that if I couldn't, he would throw my beloved Cupcake Dolls away. I can't remember if I actually rode the bicycle, or if my mom came to my rescue, but needless to say, my Cupcake Dolls disappeared. I've hated my dad for a lot more, and unfortunately, a lot less than throwing away my Cupcake Dolls.

I'll spare the most private of details in an effort to protect those around me but if you've ever lived with someone who is struggling with addiction, then you'll understand the turmoil of our daily life. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't fun, and sometimes it was downright scary. Now that I've been able to experience some life myself, and have come out of the angry-rebellious-teenager phase that I was stuck in well into my thirties, I can see how wrong I was to judge someone for a disease so powerful. What I should have extended was grace; what I actually dished out was far from it.

About a month ago, we found an incredible church here in San Antonio called City Church Downtown. We were immediately drawn to the people. This church has members who are in and out of homelessness as door greeters, LGBTQ+ members, people who don't wear bras to service, people dressed in their Sunday best, people with piercings and tattoos, and even the occasional Green Bay Packers fan (boo! Go Chiefs!). This is their mission statement:

 One of the teachings we're currently going through is called the "Hero Maker" series. Two super cool things have come from this. Cool Thing #1- One of our challenges is called the ICNU. Basically, you're supposed to encourage someone by saying, "I see in you" and then fill in the blank. "I see in you an incredible drive to help the homeless population." "I see in you an unbreakable joy." "I see in you an undeniable presence of Jesus." Cool Thing #2- One of my friends who hasn't been to church in awhile for his own reasons decided to come try out this church as well, and within two days he sent me this article that totally wrecked me in the most unexpected way.

For real, go read that last article I linked and then come back. It talks about forgiveness (gross!) and how sometimes we, the ones who have been hurt, withhold our own forgiveness and affection because we believe that it harms the person who has caused us the pain. Get it? WE GET HURT + WE WITHHOLD FORGIVENESS = WE THINK WE ARE HURTING THE PERSON WHO HURT US. So in turn, we are doing the exact same thing to the person that we are mad at! How in the world does that make sense? It doesn't. The other concept that this article on forgiveness made me consider is this: If I'm trying to teach my daughter about kindness, compassion, forgiveness, and life, I better be walking the same rope. How can I be an example for her when I have so much of my own hate built up in my heart? That's called being a hypocrite and I'll be damned if anyone ever uses that word to describe me.

So, how did the Cupcake Dolls lead me to forgive my dad? I'm glad you asked. Perhaps the most powerful lesson in all of this came from my husband, who, after hearing the sermon on ICNU, wrote down some of his own ideas of what he sees in me. I'll share a few:

"I see in you a bravery so strong, you can change the world."
"I see in you an unwillingness to quit fighting for what you believe in."
"I see in you the most loving wife, mother, and friend."

Immediately following this, he pulled out a bag containing two Cupcake Dolls. He told me that he knew how upset I was by the Cupcake Dolls being thrown away 28 years before, and what those represented as it pertained to my relationship with my dad. As silly as it sounds, he wanted to use those Cupcake Dolls to give me a new memory... one of forgiveness, and of rebuilding. He told me that he couldn't take away what had happened in the past, but that he could help be part of a healthier future. I loved the imagery behind what the Cupcake Dolls now represented: a jumbled up, sweet-smelling mess, that when unpacked and unfolded, transformed into the beautiful display it was meant to be.

I don't know where the relationship with my dad is headed, but I can tell you this: for maybe the first time in my life, I've truly forgiven him, and he knows it. Maybe we'll be on speaking terms again, maybe we'll never speak, but the burden is no longer mine. I don't know what it is in your life that is holding you back, but I truly hope you find "the thing" that propels you forward. Maybe it's a new church, maybe it's a friend sharing truth in your life, maybe it's a stupid, plastic, $8.99 smell-good toy.

Brave, Bold, Beautiful Mess

The first time I thought about killing myself, I was a third grader. 8 years old. I didn't know the meaning of "suicide", but I knew that girls were mean, cruel, torturous creatures... and that I wanted to die.

The first time I actually tried killing myself, I was a sophomore in high school. 15 years old, and seven years after the first thoughts of harming myself ever entered into my mind. The details of that day don't matter except to say that it was the first time I could no longer control my darkness and because of that, I've got a couple of tattoos on my wrists to cover up the wounds of my past.

It wasn't until I was 25 and married, that I finally decided to go to the doctor. I had been through years of counseling and sports psychology that eventually bled back over to even more counseling, so decided maybe I needed a different kind of "help". In truth, I actually thought that I was bi-polar because I had thrown a hammer across the room at my husband during one of my bouts of uncontrolled rage. Luckily for both of us, it's really hard to see behind a face full of tears and snot. As it turns out, my self-diagnosis was incorrect, and I was instead given the diagnosis of "Depression." I remember laughing at the idea of being depressed and thinking that I just needed to snap out of it, make myself happier, be a better (non-hammer yielding) wife. I took my prescription anti-depressants for a while, and then when I felt like I didn't need to cry everyday, believed the lie, and quit cold-turkey. I actually felt guilty for needing to take an anti-depressant and felt that I could just bring my own self out of the funk.

Wrong.

The most recent time I thought about killing myself was this past weekend. I'm 32 years old. I was helping some family clean out their house and came across bottles of pills that we needed to dispose of. Like, at least 20 different types of pills that had been prescribed to someone else to help keep them alive. Nobody knew at the time that I had sat there, silently wondering what would happen if I took just a handful of those pills. Would I get sick? Would I die?

 And just like that, I was triggered and in a completely dark, completely unhealthy headspace. I thought about driving off the bridge on the way home, too. I later confided in my husband both instances. My reasoning for that was that my family needed someone better than me. Someone nicer. Someone more funny. Someone more appreciative of the beautiful life she has, but takes for granted. If I was dead, they'd be forced to find a new and improved Jacque. Jacque2.0, if you will.

But that's just it. That's the lie that depression will so often tell you. You aren't good enough, they would be better off without you, you are more of a nuisance than you are a helper, they would be happier with someone else, you don't deserve to be happy, they deserve more than what you can offer, you'll never attain this, get that, you'll never be enough!  

When you are someone who suffers from depression, it's a constant battle raging inside your own head every single day. It's a new narrative that must be written. When you go for so long believing the lies, it's hard to delve fully into the truth. It's hard to convince yourself that you've been wrong and misinformed about your own life's worth for so long. I'd love to say that I have it mastered and that I have my depression under control and for the most part, I do. I'm finally to the point where I have more good days than bad. But I have a terribly, wonderfully supportive husband, and a handful of family/friends, and a little white pill I take every day that help keep me there. There will be good days, and there might even be some days like I had this past weekend where a little too much darkness creeps back in. Surround yourself with people who are truth-tellers, and hold onto that truth.

You are good enough, they need you and depend on you, you are who they chose and who makes them happy, you are worthy of joy and love, they want you, who cares if you get this or that, you have them, you brave, bold, beautiful mess, are enough. 




If you don't struggle with depression, may I urge you to check on your friends? The strong one, the funny one, the one who appears to have their life together. I'm really good at faking that nothing is wrong, and I'm sure there are others just like me. Reach out. You never know who may need it.