He Loved us through our fears. Through our uncertainties and doubts. Through the times that we’ve turned away and cursed at Him. Through the times we have failed to love others. He loved us through all of those things, through His own pain and exhaustion, to the end.
It feels like a roller coaster right now for everyone. Every day is another announcement, another fear, another new normal to navigate. Each moment where we think we have something figured out, where we think we can breathe, is interrupted by a precipitous fall toward the unknown.
This fragile balance she has created, this magic teeter-totter of support and outlet, of mental work and physical strength begins to wobble and finds herself walking a tightrope no longer securely anchored.
I don’t know what best describes this space I’m currently occupying. It’s easier to laugh, easier to see beauty, easier to breathe. But I still live in that weary space, waiting for the shoe to drop, expecting the gray to roll back in, the walls to begin to smolder and burn.
I’m so glad we are talking about it, so relieved my children live in a world where therapy is normalizing and stigma is being removed. So unbelievably grateful to attend a church where counseling and medication is not viewed as a flaw in my faith. And I’m so tired of being that woman who is still talking about it. Still fighting it.
Her voice made so much sense. Everything she told me sounded true. And no one else was saying anything to me to contradict her. And so I listened as she told me that I was unworthy, unlovable, broken, wrong.
Remind me that this is a celebration, a milestone of achievement and happiness and success, and not a moment to be mourned or feared. Give her the grace to tolerate my moments of tears, and give me the strength to let those moments be few.
Life is always busy. Always messy. Always chaotic. But this season is even more so for us, and we honestly didn’t plan in advance for the level we’ve been living in for the last few months. And without a plan. . . .I don’t do well. I crumble, panic, hide. I alternate between tears and rage as my frustration begins to spiral out of control and bleed into anxiety.
I’ve been trying all week to find time to write about Easter. The Holy Week. Something. Anything. And while life has been prohibitively busy, I’ve also found that something is stopping me. A heavy settling in depth of my chest, that rises up close to tears when I try to find the words.