on explorations of who i am + the work i have been given.
it was july 15 when i last posted here.
july 7 when i last went to counseling.
july 30 when i got away from my life and went to oregon with my family for a week.
august was the month i quoted brianna wiest in my journal as my focus for the month: “when you feel strong enough to look at what’s wrong, you begin to unearth your soul. keep going. there is more to life than this.”
august 23 when i journaled “if only i could crack the code on my own self.”
august 26 when my spiritual direction session asked questions like “what do i even want?” and “is there a way to be awake to God being present with me even in the chaos?”
and then september 23 when my next session asked “what if longing isn’t something to overcome? what if it’s a companion along the journey?” and later that day, when hannah asked “how are you currently getting your feelings out of your body?” and “what would it look like for you to choose you?”
it was october 7 when my counselor prayed “that she would know she is not a problem to be fixed but a person to be known.”
and october 12 when staff devos were on galatians 5-6 from the message, and i read “make careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that.”
october 14-15 were spent soaking up all that evolving faith has to offer (worthy of a post in and of itself) and i found myself thinking about two kinds of pain— the good kind that leads to growth (like tiny tears in a muscle that lead to it being made stronger) and the harmful kind that exacerbates injury.
at that same conference, i noted kate bowler’s words that “we were never problems to be solved.” there it is again.
and october 21 when my spiritual director brought me back to a place of asking “what do i want my life to look like?” and “who do i want to be?” and “what if instead of seeing things as opportunities for self-betterment, i saw them as opportunities to say ‘i’m beloved’?”
and now, october 26 — reading a substack from hannah and finding myself itching to write again, to wrap words around what these last few months have been.
so, here i am.
after several months of less writing, but more inner work. more changes at work, and more questions about what i’m doing, and what is next, and how to do it all well. more people surrounding me, asking good questions, not letting me hide, pursuing me even when i wanted to isolate. more crying than… ever? more hugs, and realizing that touch can be healing and not just hurtful the way it once was. more uncertainty, and a lot more naming of feelings as i feel them. more questions, and far less answers.
and somehow, more openhandedness.
more acceptance of myself and the emotions and the fullness of what it means to be a deeply feeling person.
more clarity around what i want to do with the work i’ve been given, and how i want to do it, and why.
i’ll be honest and tell you that i’ve been wrestling with a lot lately, and that this season has been a rough one on so many levels. even as i read back what i’ve written so far, i’m wondering how much i’m romanticizing it, how much i’m masking the truth of how badly things have been hurting, how painful it is to feel alone and forgotten and unseen. not all of that needs to be shared, for sure, but there’s something in saying things have been hard, and i have been struggling that sheds some light on it all.
in the wasteland where i’m living, there is a crack in the door filled with light…
quite honestly, i don’t want to camp out in the wasteland.
i’d rather tell you about the crack in the door, and the light.
the light that it’s been to have friends come after me when i run out of the room sobbing.
the light that comes in the questions from my counselor, and spiritual director, and new leadership coach, and group at barnabas training, and friends, and my parents.
the light of fresh flowers, and open doors, and cool fall breezes that smell like bonfires.
the light of books that you can’t help but highlight the heck out of it, and hug when you’re done.
the light that comes when you snuggle the brand new, 5-pound baby your best friends are fostering and loving for as long as is needed.
the light that comes in kneeling down to get on a kid’s level, in having pretend tea parties, in the joy of a bubble machine, in the sticky hands and mispronounced words and wide, unashamed smiles.
the light that comes when you hear “i’m proud of you!” and “you did it!” and “job well done.”
the light of sunrises and sunsets, and knowing they’ll be their brightest just after the rain.
the light of tweets and memes and tiktoks sent between friends, like tiny little gifts.
the light of cracking open a new library book, and the crinkle of the plastic cover, and the perfect smell that the pages always seem to have.
the light of new journals, and blank pages, and the pouch full of stickers, and the always-messy desk space, and the green oak & moss scented candle burning nearby.
the light of celebrating, and the buzz of crowds of people, and the knowing you’re a small part of something big.
it was july 15 when i last posted here.
october 26 today.
and i don’t know when i’ll post again, or what i’ll say.
but i’m exploring who i am, and the work i’ve been given. i’m looking forward the light through the crack in the door. and for now, i’ll say: it is good enough. and maybe even, it is good.
