The Kingdom Didn’t Come For Daughters Like Me
(or so I thought)
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Dear friend,
In this letter, you will get a preview into a writing project that I have been working on behind the scenes. You will get insight into the heart of a Prodigal Daughter who once hid from the church in fear of cancellation and condemnation. Likewise, you will get a glimpse into how the Bible became a balm for my soul, and how God’s mercy drew me out of hiding.
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The Kingdom Didn’t Come For Daughters Like Me (Or So I Thought)
According to the Chinese Lunar Calendar, I was born in the year of the Dragon; a prized and auspicious coincidence. The only mythical creature of all twelve Zodiac signs, the Dragon is a symbol of imperial strength and power, which according to my superstitious folk, promised me a future of success and prosperity.
This was good news for my kingdom forged by refugees—fleeing homelands with bruised hearts, empty stomachs, and pockets full of dreams. For years they saved every dollar from the jobs no one wanted, allowing me to taste a world where girls could dare to dream. So, as the eldest ‘Dragon’ daughter, it was imperative that I succeeded—to earn the respect they never had; to become somebody who was seen.
As time went on, I learned that there are different types of dragons. While I strived with all my might to live up to the standards of a fire-breathing beast, I grew up feeling more like a fly on the wall - a pest to be swatted away. Too loud, too emotional, too headstrong. Not pretty enough, not smart enough, not obedient enough. Too Westernised at home, too Asian at school, no matter where I turned, my best was never enough.
The Dragon Daughter: The Birth of My Shame
Over time I began to feel less like Tolkien’s Smaug, and a little more like Mulan’s Mushu—clumsy, overlooked, size of a small lizard. I suspect this is where shame first creeped into my life—a gnawing desire of wanting to please but never reaching the mark. On the outside, I looked like a High Achiever who was ruthless to climb, when in reality, I was striving to outrun my shame, and to liberate my family of theirs.
My shame lingers in the gaps between expectation and reality; the distance between who I’m expected to be, and who I really am. It’s the belief that unless I have a trophy, the doors remain unopened; that unless I’m exceptional, I remain unloveable. My shame was birthed in my striving to meet an impossible standard; of not knowing whether I would still be prized if I showed up as just a daughter—and not a Dragon.
Over my lifetime, my shame has been a powerful incentive for striving and rebellion. As a child, my awards were the means to my father’s pride and affection. As I grew up, I yearned for love in popularity and promiscuity, leaving my heart bent and broken in the beds of strangers who never called back. At church, I hid my shame behind long skirts and eloquent prayers, and yet at times, I would still hear whispers of my unwelcome.
Bad influence. Hypocrite. Sinner.
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