Whew.
For someone who considers herself a writer, it’s taken me painfully long to sit down and put my thoughts to paper again. I first fell in love with words and using them to express myself through song, art, and performance at the age of nine. As I grew older, I unknowingly started honing in on my craft and understanding the power of expression through the words that left my fingertips and eventually my lips.
In my teenage years, I used writing as a form of escapism. I created a reality beyond the one I existed in with characters and ideas, and romanticized versions of the inspiration I found from whatever caught my eye at the time. In hindsight, what felt like freedom, essentially meant I pushed away and bottled up what was actually going on. Something I’ve become quite skilled at over time. Pushing it all down unfortunately means that when you reach your boiling point, you’re bound to explode.
As the years went on, and as I continued to write, I started to find strength in vulnerability. I started to blog through the most confusing, and toughest (until that point) experiences of my life. I wrote through heartbreak, depression, betrayal, low self-esteem, and trauma, and wrote my way into and right out of open heart surgery. This is around the time I started to say that pain birthed my purpose. I started to understand that my experiences, my hurt, and my scars were not isolated. In sharing these with others, I could create an opportunity for them to feel seen. If I dared to dig deep enough to the root of my agony, it just may be what the next person needs for their breakthrough.
I’ve had seasons of life that have felt like blow after blow… and just when I started to bring my head above water… another blow.
The toughest blow thus far was prematurely and unexpectedly losing my brother. My best friend. My covering. My protector. The only one who really got me. I still have a hard time typing the words. Saying them. Believing them. Waking up daily and realizing that this is my reality. When people say “may his soul rest in peace” or speak of him in the past tense I freeze. I remember this isn’t a nightmare. It is real. The rug has long been pulled from beneath my feet. When I’m not plastering a smile on my face and showing up and making sure the job gets done, I hide in isolation. Processing. Doubting. Hurting. Replaying moments in my head. Wishing I’d said more. Wishing I’d been more present. Wishing I could turn back the hands of time.
I’ve been the one to say this test is going to be a testimony, and while I believe it to be true. Some days get harder to embrace that truth.
So that’s where you find me.
I’ve in no way lost sight of the goal. I have not a shadow of doubt in my mind about the word God has spoken over me concerning my purpose and that of those connected to me. I know that He doesn't lie and what He spoke will come to pass even when it doesn't look like it. I know that it won’t always be like this. It’s turning around.
Yet and still, it doesn’t make the process hurt any less.
There’s a great juxtaposition in existing in the mourning but understanding that God is still good while you walk through your valley. As the Glow Up Coach, this is where I usually leave you with a tip or tool out of my arsenal. But, if I’m honest, on days like today… I don’t have it. I don’t have it to give.
And I’m learning that that’s an okay place to be.
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