a bruise in the shape of a ski on my bum.

it was supposed to be a fun day with the beau.  a two hour drive to the hills of Indiana.  sunshine, and actually above freezing.  a day outdoors after spending what has seemed like my entire time in Indianapolis holed-up inside avoiding the sub-arctic temps.

i tried not to notice it as the drive got long and winding.  i tried to ignore its presence like a misspoken word, in hopes he wouldn't notice and it wouldn't build and i could just go about the day being active and learning how to ski and tearing up the slopes.  but it stuck with me unnoticed, like dirtied, discarded gum on the bottom of my rain boots.

covered head-to-toe in heat-wielding accessories, with skis tightly secured to my rented boots, i hit the slopes.  I still had it.  I had been skiing only once before, at this very place, only falling once and thorougly enjoying myself.  certainly this would be the day i would graduate to the tougher runs and learn to cut in and out across the hills with the agility of a seasoned skiier.

and as i set forth down the first slope, panic overwhelmed my body. my chest felt hollow, as if no amount of breathing in would ever fill it with the oxygen needed to sustain life.  fearfilled my veins, and tears filled my eyes.  i wasn't close to falling, i wasn't unsteady on my feet.  my hands were shaking and i burst into tears before I could even come to a stop with my pizza-shaped ski position.

Ryan encouraged me from behind as i slowed to a stop on the other side of the path.  i couldn't go near him, i couldn't speak, i could hardly breathe.  the thought that i had to complete the course before i could even make it back up again ignited absolute terror throughout my body.  through the grace of God, I made it down (what to me was) the hill with the straight, deep, decline, and to the bottom by the ski lift. shaking and wiping away tears, i confessed what he already knew, that I had had a panic attack upon starting, and my body was overwhelmed right now.  i couldn't control the tears or the terror and felt awful for something like this ruining our day while we were just getting started.  he said he was more concerned with me being okay than him having fun, and I know he was sincere, but the thought of ruining his time just made me feel that much worse.

and every time i got to the top of the slope, no matter how many times i mastered it with ease, the cavity in my chest again became hollow, my hands never ceased to shake, and the terror never relented tormenting my mind.  and after a nasty spill the only time i tried a new run, one that left me with a ski up my bum (and the bruise to prove it happened) and no comfortable way to sit, each run was a battle to not give up, to do it afraid.  i was presented with the choice to make each time, to A) give into anxiety, and give up, just not even trying any more; or B) push past the anxiety, and do it in fear the whole time, stripping it of any fun that it could or should be?

it's this dilemma that drives me crazy.  in either option, i have zero control over my anxiety, and it wins.  as irrational as it can be, that is how it wins, every time.  it just has to show up.

so today, i start a new journey with my anxiety, and i ask that you would pray for me as each step is a little scary and asks me to be a little more vulnerable.  today i went to the doctor, and they prescribed an anti-depressant to help combat everything that has made me feel so unlike myself.  we will see how this goes.  right now, it's just for the next 6-9 months and we will reassess from there.  so much of my pride wants to not talk about this; wants to pretend all is fine and dandy all the time, and that i don't need to rely on anything outside of myself to help control the panic.  but that part of pride is a liar.  that part of pride wants to save face, rather than be real.  and although i can't control the anxiety, i can control my pride.

this post by jamie the very worst missionary spoke so much to me a year ago in this journey of discovering what i've been dealing with.  it also reflects a lot of honest thoughts i have had about trying to defeat this with a jesus-only prescription.

the bruise and welts and cut on my bum remind me that its a hard journey, and it will be filled with accidents and pain and days that are just no-good.  but, it also serves as a reminder that i did it.  afraid, yes.  but i still did it.  i start out these new steps with the same thoughts, and one day i'll look back and be grateful that I did it.

first things first.

about 2 years ago, i read a daily devotional that talked about Mary and Martha, and how they interacted with Jesus when they hosted Him for dinner one night.  Mary ran about the house, tidying things up, making sure the casseroles were baked and the laundry neatly folded.  Martha sat at His feet, and listened.  They each had very different ideas of hosting.

i like to think i've got a little bit of both personality in me.  when it begins, i'm totally Mary.  I plan and prep and cook away to make everything perfect, but when it's all said and done, i know that it's not the party that makes the people, it's the people that make the party.

i had planned to spend my day up at the school, getting things planned and prepped for thre upcoming week.  but instead, got wrapped into 3 hours of conversation about love and life and faith with Ryan's roommates.  as each minute ticked away, i thought of how i really should be headed out by now, but the resounding sensation in my heart and soul was that i was putting first things first.

these conversations are what awaken us to insight and enlightenment and joy and learning.  these conversations allow us to express our unique identity as human beings that we are simply able to express ideas and feelings and thoughts and beauty and love.  on top of that, these are the things that are good for our soul, contribute to our joy and sanity, and remind us that there is more to life than a clean desk or copies made.

so today, i vow to put first things first.  to put people ahead of projects.  to put feeding my soul ahead of checking off an item from my to-do list.  to sow into growing community and bonds and creativity, through conversations and insta-meets (yes, I'll be headed to an insta-meet this afternoon.  don't judge.).  relationships. discussion and dialogue. painting. writing. photography. dancing.  more of these things.

we work all week, and often into the evenings on work.  when do we work on self? on relationships?  on the parts of us we starve and sacrifice in order to meet the needs of our careers and callings?  there is much to be said about diligence and work ethic and professionalism.  but do those things fulfill us in the way that people and relationships and creativity can invoke joy and satisfaction and pure contentment?  i know it's a fine line, and most days, we must succumb to sacrifice and diligence because it's the responsible thing to do.  but some days, i don't buy that neglecting our humanity is responsible.  neglecting growing and building and sowing is what makes us machines, not humans.

put first things first.  the things that make you breathe and grow and love and give and live. those things.  those are first things.  everything else will survive if you nurture those things.  i'm sure of it.

because, it's not always summer. part II.

i sat there, in the yard, praying.  reflecting.  silently mouthing the words to "Your Love is Strong," and realizing that God probably honors our open-eyed prayers even more than our bowed-heads one, because we're able to recognize and confess gratitude for the beauty before us.

i smiled as i remembered back to a very similar, yet strikingly different experience.  i was in nashville, on the porch of my adorable sylvan park cottage, when a rainstorm struck out of nowhere.  grabbing a towel and ditching my jeans and overshirt, i sat in the yard, beneath the early summer rain, and i sang praises.  i giggled, and felt like a child.  unafraid of the elements, no-- rather, in harmony with them.

this time, i sat there, my arms hanging around my bent knees, remembering those moments in the rain.  those moments on the porch.  those moments in summer. those moments of peace and joy and freedom.

this time, i was bundled in tights and snow pants, in shirts and vests and ski jackets and scarves.  but, i sat and watched as the snow fell violently all around me, all over me, and i didn't feel the cold.  while rolling the snow into a head for our giant snowman, the beauty around me overwhelmed me, and for a moment, i forgot about the freezing temperatures and my rear-end sitting in a foot of snow.

the wind picked up with the crescendo of the chorus, and i felt like it was the Lord whispering His promises to me once again:

"... So why do I worry? Why do I freak out? God knows what I need. You know what I need ... Two things You told me: You are strong, and You love me. Yes, You love me..."

i sit in a very different spot than in that summer place in my yard in Tennessee beneath the rain. but that's the beauty of the Lord.  He's with us always, and He loves us indefinitely, regardless of the season of life we are in.  because, it's not always summer. and just like those open-eyed prayers, i can't help but think that he rejoices with us more in our winter season revelations.

because, it's not always summer. part I.

i'd love to say winter lulls me to sleep, like the hibernating bear that can't be bothered by the lack or want or cold, but that would be an outright lie.  winter causes panic, anxiety, tears, and fears to arise like no other season can.  seasonal depression is a real thing, and for some reason, the quasi-nostalgia-inducing weather turns my head and my heart into something i truly know that i am not.

i fight it. with heat, and baking, and warm socks.  i wear leg warmers and paint my nails and even do my makeup in an effort to pretend i'm warm and entice myself to girly and frilly in order to falsify external beauty when the insides feel cold and dull.

but some days, it's hard to fight. some days, the tears well for no other reason than it's cold and my body is vitamin d deficient and my hormones are wacky. for no logical reason, to fight means to cry. because crying is my body's natural reaction when facing fear. yet, it signifies i am doing just that: facing it.

fear is real, every day, for me. i don't know when i started being so afraid, i just know that a lot of days i wake up or go to bed just feeling that way.  afraid of loss, of failure, of not being enough. afraid of losing love, or not feeling it, or not giving it. afraid that i'll face anxiety and fear and sadness for much longer than i can handle. that it will ruin me, or steal my joy, or ruin my relationship because it steals my joy.  i'm afraid of being a burden, of being a downer, of having to hide behind a happy i don't always feel. i'm afraid to be honest about it sometimes, because everyone always thinks there must be a reason you're sad or that happy is what you make of it.  then, i'm sad and afraid, and furthermore sad because i'm afraid.

standing up to these fears may look like wallowing.  but tears often times signify courage. that even though i'm fearful, i'm choosing to fight. by confessing my fears. by asking for help. by discussing my anxiety.  those things are scary enough, and walking through those things my body undergoes physical stress that causes the tears to rush and exhausts my body once it's over. 

truthfully, i fight back tears in composing this.  there's fear in releasing honest thoughts that leave you vulnerable as you confess the very fears that keep you feeling weak.  but sometimes crying doesn't show weakness. sometimes it means i'm doing it afraid.  afraid, yes. but i am doing it anyway. because, it's not always summer. sometimes its winter, and its cold, and you just have to go about life honestly while you wait for the sun.