I wrote the following last June:
I am not present in my home.
My body is here, yes.
My heart is.
My soul and my mind are not.
They are off somewhere else, pretending Bad Things don’t exist.
This isn’t normal.
My ears don’t hear my children. My eyes don’t see my husband. My mind doesn’t perceive the people living and moving around me. Not clearly, anyway.
I move slowly, dragged down by the weight of all the Ocean above me, but I’m not moving forward. I can’t see clearly. Sounds are dull and incomprehensible.
This has been sitting in my drafts folder ever since then. I’ve never been brave enough to share how non-okay I was. Yet, I can’t think of anything else to write this week. So, here you go. You get a dose of the reality of where I was then. I was not okay.
Today, I am more okay than I was, but this struggle has left its mark. There are scars. I am not the same woman I was. I search my heart, and don’t find bitterness, but there is a depth I didn’t have before.
If I ever return to a full-blown Sunshine, it will be a Sun with more warmth and less brightness. More useful. Softer. That light is already shining through the waters that have covered me. My head is above the surface for now, but I am definitely weary and treading still.
I’m sure the strength will come for me to set out, maybe in a backstroke, my own face to the Son. Watching prism drops of water splash tiny rainbows across my vision, trusting the depths below me to hold me up. Resting, even as I work my way forward.
Today would have been Dad’s 53rd birthday, and I got to greet the morning at the birth of a beautiful baby to a beautiful family. It’s like Daddy put in a good word with the Lord to give me a gift today. I cannot help but smile. The pain is wrapped in warm blankets today.
Grace & Peace,