You may not have noticed my absence, but trust me, it's been intentional. I've been ignoring you in worse ways than I used to find any menial thing to do before writing a paper in college (hey, at least then that meant my house was spotless and my kitchen full of every baked good you could ever crave!)
I'm not sure why I've not been ale to write. Even when I haven't had the time, I've still had moments where I really could've done it. I've opened up this page half a dozen times, but the words never came, or they came too many at once, and it's a million times easier to click that little "x" at the top of the page than it is to sort through any of them.
I've been home from Haiti for over a month now. Back in Nashville for four weeks already. For the better part of that time, I've been dealing with an enslaught of emotion from reentry. Knowing it wasn't as long of a time, nor was it as dramatic of a change this second time around, I really didn't anticipate being so depressed coming back. But I was, perhaps still am, and it's been really hard to shake if we're being honest. Which, by God's good grace, I've been able to be real honest. To just about anyone that asks. #sorryboutit.
This post alone is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions mixed together, and unable to separate, like two colors of playdoh that have been forever swirled into one. You can thank my kinders for that illustration. Perhaps I haven't written, because the thought of sorting through my thoughts and feelings and the sources of them is too overwhelming on its own. Much like just about every part of life I've been dealing with. Much of my wardrobe is till strewn about the house. Tubs still remain in the attic, my dresser remains half-empty, and the clothes I spent 10 weeks in this summer are still piled not-so-neatly in the living room.
Facing reality has been overwhelming. I'm literally only able to do it one baby-step at a time. It seems that I make huge advances, only to be followed by a wall of obstacles the next day that remind me that this is a war, and each day is only a battle. Last weekend, I ventured up to the attic, at the God-sent-request of a friend to host a yard sale. I went through a majority of my storage tubs into the wee-hours of Saturday morning, accompanied by a pot of coffee and Ferngully (both consumed in full). After sorting through tub after tub of my belongings, I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of clothes I had procured over the years. There is no way these all fit in my room, as they are barely contained in their space in the attic! I must've purged half of what I own, knocking my pants and jeans in half. That thought of the initial cost and value of everything I carelessly tossed in the take-it-out-of-my-life pile made me nauseous.
Cleaning up after the garage sale was another huge task to unveil. After getting everything out of my house, I now had a surplus of stuff that didn't sell that I didn't want to return back in, for fear it might never leave again. (reminded of that verse about casting out demons and cleaning house, only for them to return seven-fold, and how it would've just been better to never cast out the one in the first place. Well that's encouraging.). Even though I had sorted through and purged the excess, I couldn't find the strength to actually return the rest of it to my room. To actually un-pack it and deal with it. I'm so cognizant of the physical-spiritual-emotional manifestation of parallels in this situation.
i've been avoiding writing like the plague. i've had enough to deal with, that dealing with thoughts that weren't already presenting themselves has seemed like waking a sleeping bear while you're on the dead-end-side of his cave. waking scary, negative things when real life has been admittedly scary and negative, is, well, scary. but writing somehow proves to be an antidote to many of life's problems; sort of like an IV as its pricked into your hand, releasing the flow from the drip bag of just what your body needs.
i'm realizing there is a fine line between laziness and apathy, and being so overwhelmed that you literally can't deal with it. healthiness does not reside with either of those; however, sometimes you just have to do what you can to survive. and that is what i am doing. what i can.
i don't want this to come off super debbie-downer. i don't want you to worry about my soul (saved by His grace), my mental state (i know when i need help), or my ability to discern between enduring the storm and succumbing to the seas. but i don't think we talk about it enough when we are in the midst of the battle, and can't confidently proclaim the hope that you know in the stillest, smallest places in your heart still exists. we hide in depression and anxiety. we go to bed on it at 6 p.m. and pretend like all is well to the outside world. but the Bible tells us to walk in light, that whatever we put in to the light is no longer in darkness. and praise Him, because i used to be super private. i hid the secrets of my heart like a secret stash of dark chocolate. i hid my struggles for fear of rejection. all until one day, that i realized to live as if i truly have been redeemed, i needed to walk redeemed. i needed to walk in my identity as a redeemed daughter of God.
and walking in that identity means i have to be honest. i have to get out all the thoughts that are eating my brain. and it means that i don't walk in anxiety or depression as who i am, not at all. the enemy wants me to believe this is who i am, that it is inescapable. but my Daddy tells me different. the victory on the Cross tells me otherwise. my identity is a redeemed daughter of the King. and even the redeem walk through seasons of battles against their mind and circumstance. but what a powerful army we have walking with us. prayer warriors and angels, guardsmen of God.
step one: unpack. don't keep everything boxed up in the attic. shed some light. dust off the cobwebs. open up each storage tub carefully. beware of spiders, but don't be paralyzed by the fear that they are there. ask for help; you can't carry some of those things down the stairs by yourself. sit down when it becomes too much, but get back to it. don't give up. don't give in. set small goals. like, putting away your tank-tops. you can do this, by the grace of God, you can do this. but you can never do this without Him. lean on Him for your strength. crawl in His lap when the afternoons are hard, instead of just in your bed. unpacking doesn't mean putting away quite yet; sometimes you just need to survey everything all at once.
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