hope

the thing about anxiety is that the only way to recover from it is to do the thing that scares you over and over again until your brain realizes it’s not a threat and stops reacting to it. fear is ten feet tall and paper thin. for me that means scheduling things in the evening that interfere with my dinnertime and having to eat earlier or later than usual, or not canceling a single plan even when I wake up with a pit in my stomach. these things seem so simple now, but a few months ago they felt impossible to me. I felt like I was living in a nightmare. I couldn’t catch a break. my only comfort every day was sitting in bed at night, finally done with everything. dreading the morning but so glad I had gotten through the day and could be done for a while. sometimes sleeping didn’t happen, and those nights were the worst. I would open my eyes and throw up in the middle of the night. the next day I would be so wired. sometimes I threw up at work. every day at work I had to get up multiple times an hour and pace around the hallway to keep myself from throwing up. (I’m honestly so grateful to be gone from shell point because those were some of the worst days of my life, truly. it is so gracious of God to have taken me out of that place.) I felt hopeless, but sherry told me that I had to keep having hope, and so I did. and she was right. no matter how impossible something seems, there is always hope. if God can repair me, he can repair anything. I truly believe that now.

I’ve been babysitting children on Thursdays. or really, getting paid to stand in the hallway while other people babysit children. and sometimes when the mamas leave, the little one year olds start crying. they look awful doing it. they scream and bawl like their world is ending. their little nervous systems must be so upset. but we let them cry. and their mamas don’t come back. because the truth is, that they are okay and they will be okay. and I wonder if God did the same thing to me, when I was in my worst pit of anxiety, when I thought my world was ending, he did not swoop down and save me. he let me be. he let me weep and puke and get all torn up until eventually there was nothing left to do but stop crying.

my mom said that when she dropped me off at first grade, I was very shy. and after she left she peeked into my classroom through the window. she saw me shed a tear, and then I picked up my pencil and started on my assignment. I am that same first grader every morning when I wake up with a pit in my stomach. we all have a weakness. we have to. I do not understand how God is able to make a character flaw such a beautiful part of a person, but he does.