Dear body… It’s been a rough season for us, hasn’t it? I haven’t loved you very well lately. I haven’t felt proud of you, haven’t felt good about you, haven’t really known how to address you or see you or appreciate you…
it’s not at all easy to open yourself up— to your own self-reflection, to God, to others. to let down your guard, to inch open the door, to break through the defenses, to let another person see you and speak to you and share with you… it takes work. real, hard work.
it’s easy to go through the days on autopilot, waking up and working and eating and mostly just going through the motions without real thought or intention. lately, i’ve been trying to disrupt that.
My homework for counseling this past week after telling my story publicly was to write a letter to that former version of myself, back when everything happened and I felt like all hope was lost. This is what I wrote.
it’s been ages since i’ve written just to write here. i’ve shared lists and reviews and products, but have I honestly shared my heart? not so much.
In a season of depression that has most often felt dark and heavy, it's been hard to celebrate the light when it shines.
I'm not here to get loud and shout cheers and try to amp you up about life. This isn't a pep talk full of platitudes and cliches. I'm not trying to be phony or fluff you up with falsehoods. I'm just here to keep it real.
It was in January that he said those words to me from his blue chair across the room to the left corner of the couch where I sat week after week. I knew he was right, but I didn't like it.
i've been craving the feeling of bare feet on soft green grass. i've been wanting to plunge my hands into big pots of cool soil, wanting to break it up between my fingers and be reminded i came from dust like this and i'll return to dust like this someday too.
there's something about roots, and something about wings. there's something about adventure, and something about contentment. there's something about there, and still so much about here.