Courage is telling your whole story with your whole heart.
-Brené Brown
I struggle with a fear of abandonment. And with the fear of being the one who abandons. Also, I tend to constantly wait for the other shoe to drop. And I fear that I am unworthy, not enough, and too much all at once.
Last year, my counselor asked me if these statements might be true after we talked two times. He spent a total of a 90 minutes with me, and already he noticed such heaviness plaguing my heart and mind. I told him he nailed it – I absolutely believed they were true.
Last year was quite possibly the hardest year of my life. There were some circumstances playing into how hard it was, but mostly it was hard because of the battles happening in my own head. The enemy would try to feed me lie after lie, and for several months I ate them up.
Because I’m rather introverted, I usually enjoy spending time in my mind. It’s one of my favorite places to be. It’s often in my mind, in my imagination, where Jesus meets me. He extends his hand and invites me to follow him to our favorite spots where we can sit and talk and dance and be. But last year, I did not like spending time in my mind. I was scared to go there. It’s where I heard mean things about myself. It’s where doubt manifested itself – doubt in myself, in my relationships with people, in my relationship with the Lord. It’s where I would try to meet Jesus but would often meet darkness instead. Not because Jesus wasn’t there, but because I allowed my thoughts to be taken captive by an evil captor.
My outside world was fine. Wonderful, even. I was surrounded by loving people, sweet little ones, singing birds, beautiful skies. There were soft blankets, homey mugs, vases of wildflowers, and mornings filled with the smell of coffee. There was more structure last year than I’ve experienced in months. On the outside, it looked like nothing was wrong.
Inside was a different story. It was icky. When I let myself spend too much time there, I came out feeling ashamed and untouchable. It was quicksand. When I simply entertained the thought of entering my mind, it would pull me in and trap me there, leaving me feeling suffocated and hopeless. It was scary. It felt like those twisty tunnel slides that kids are afraid to go down because all they see is a dark opening, and they don’t know how fast they’ll go, where the end is, or when they get to see the light again. It was dramatic, too. It took little moments of disappointment and turned them into devastating tragedies.
I was scared to let people into the icky place. To let them know it existed. To let them see parts of me I didn’t want to have. I was scared to be too icky for the people who love me. I was scared that the people who choose me would realize I wasn’t worth choosing anymore. At least, not all of me. Not the parts of me that failed to be enough, nor the parts of me that were too much to handle.
I decided to let people in. I realized that I couldn’t keep the icky place a secret – it was starting to grow and consume me. At first it only drew me in at night, after my roommates went to bed and I was alone. But then the quicksand started to grab hold and suck me in during the day, too.
I saw a counselor. We talked about the outside world at first. About the hard things that happened before, the hard things happening then, and the hard things that were sure to come. And then we talked about the icky place. What made it icky, how to clean it out, what to do when the ickiness tries to come back.
Things got better. I got healthier. Lighter. Freer. I spent time putting on God’s armor every morning. He taught me how to see myself as his sweet daughter again – clothed in white, innocent as a child, beloved and pure. He also taught me how to see myself as a warrior – more than a conqueror, victorious, standing strong and firm on the foundation of his love and the sovereignty of his mighty hand.
The icky place made an appearance a couple of weeks ago. I was sitting by the river, daydreaming. Maybe 30 minutes later, I realized my mind was caught in a nightmare. I was so confused. I didn’t understand how it could sneak up on me so suddenly. I felt like I did something wrong to deserve the dark, spiraling tunnel of my mind. I am a child of light with the peace of Christ guarding my mind and ruling in my heart – how did this happen? How did darkness already take over my thoughts when I had only been awake for an hour and half?
I was devastated. I cried to Abba for a while. I told him I didn’t want to fight this battle for the rest of my life. I told him I didn’t want to be a burden to the people who choose to love me and fight for me. I told him I was scared they would realize I require too much fight, that they would leave. And then I read about his armor. I asked him to help me put it on because I didn’t feel like I had the strength to do it myself.
When I was on safari last week, Jesus told me that he has declared me worthy. Worthy of his time spent on earth. Worthy of the separation he endured from our Father. Worthy of the cross. Worthy of his resurrection. Worthy of fighting every battle, whether it happens in the outside world or in the icky place.
He told me he will never leave me. He reminded me that he will never let go of the people that I cannot be with. He comforted me that even if every possible shoe drops, he is sovereign and makes all things work together for his good. He declared me worthy, enough, and most certainly not too much – not too icky, too heavy, too emotional, too dark.
This isn’t my whole story, but it is part of it. It is a part that I did not want to tell. It is also a part that Holy Spirit carried me through, and it is a part that he gave me the courage to share.
I love him a lot. He loves me so much more.
Thank you for reading 🙂
