You.

I have a list of things to do. 

And yet I am here, compelled to write by that driving force within me. 

I want to talk to you, my dear reader. I want to tell you how proud I am of you. You are living. You are alive and breathing and I am amazed by you. You are beautiful and wonderful and I want to hug your neck and kiss your cheek. You are so valuable and significant and yes, you are worthy.

Worth more than all of the pearls in the ocean. That's you.

I'm compelled to tell you God is happy with you. Not just happy that you are here: but happy with you. He looks at you and loves you. Yes, dear reader, I know you may not believe how I do. That's okay--I hope that the statement still reaches down to your hurts and aches and somehow tells you you are loved. 

I saw this and thought--happy with you but not with me.

I saw that statement yesterday on Facebook. And I want to believe God is happy with me. I want to believe my life is of some value. But everything in me screams that God is NOT happy with me. That I am a failure because I break down at the smallest thing. I want to quit after one let down. I do. I want it all to just go away. The weight of the responsibilities. I want them far from me. The expectations I will never meet. The voice in my head that tells me I'm dumb and no good. 

I just want to look at the sky and dream, no words or voices to taunt me.

I want blank.

Void. 

Empty.

Instead I keep going. Instead I keep pushing forward, striving, persevering. You and me--we are kind of the same. We don't quit, won't quit, and I'm not sure we know how to quit. In the face and noise of opposition we keep going.

I want to believe the words I tell you about you for myself. I want them to be true about me. They are, I'm sure, though I don't quite believe it. I'm thinking maybe you feel the same way. You can tell everyone around you how brave and powerful and just chock full of purpose they are... but on your ears they fall flat. 

So maybe if I tell you you'll believe it. Maybe you'll tell yourself it with your own voice and replace anything mean with words of hope and encouragement. Maybe you will come back and read this post the next time you just can't do it. 

Leaps and bounds of bravery.

Maybe the next time you want to cut at your skin you will put the razor down. The next time you want to drown out the noise with pills you will flush them away instead. The next time you just want to drive into nothing you'll come home instead. The next time you want to shut yourself in a closet you will call a friend instead.

Because you can do it. You will. You're not a quitter, my friend. No, you've been beaten down but you are not defeated. You're brave and smart and all the good things. You are. I see it. You are alive and I am just so proud of you.

You're slaying doubts and every lie spoken against you. So brave you are to me. And you make me brave. Thank you.

Just a Poem, No Pictures

Contradiction

Frustrated, agitated, empowered.

Doing brave things while frazzled to my core.

Bound up and purpose filled.

Paralyzed and constant in motion.

I live, endure, and do the things.

The voice nags it is never enough.

That voice is a liar.

Always enough. Enough. Always Enough.

Never the nevers and always the evers.

Forgiven and a forgiver.

The fist clenching my chest loosens.

Exhausted and running in my mind.

So many wannados, oughttados.

And I do, do.

One Brave Thing

Do one brave thing today. One. 

One day after Christmas I finally decided after being awake a while to sit up in bed and make my feet find the floor. Sitting there, folded over, and wondering how I was supposed to get up and take care of my kids. How I was supposed to get dressed. How I was supposed to make breakfast. And wondering if this is how my mom felt every day. Wondering if this is how I will feel for the rest of my every days.

I got up and made my kids breakfast. That was my brave thing that day. I got up though everything in me screamed for me to just go back to bed. Screamed that there was nothing worth doing, at least nothing that I could attempt to do that would be worthy of doing. Screamed that I just couldn’t fry the eggs or toast the bread. I made breakfast while everything in me screamed I couldn't.

So easy to get lost in the abyss, wondering further down to see what the well may find.

I’m not sure the words are in existence to express the despair I experienced, experience. The pull to be with the ones you love the most and that love you most contrasted with the unrelenting push to stay down. The longing to be enough mother, wife, friend and the fear that mistakes were made in making me mother, wife, friend. The fear that the children, husband, friends would find me lacking and leave me in my confused and restless state contrasted with the hope that they would love me the same, without judgment or fear.

Live. That's a brave thing to do. Alive. That's a brave thing to be.

I remember my mom making me breakfast and packing my lunchbox for school. I got nervous buying my lunch and she made the best ham and cheese sandwiches. Or celery smeared with cream cheese. And I would always find a napkin note in her tidy handwriting. She did brave things when she wanted to lay down and never get up again. And she drove me to school that year I was teased and bullied relentlessly. She was teaching me what brave does and I didn't know.

Today I got up and did my school work. I did my real job work. I did my fun job work. I switched the laundry from the washer to the dryer. I took mail to the post office. I fed my family dinner. I played at the park. 

I did all of that with a fist of stress clenching my chest. The anxiety burning an orb through my ribs. I did the things I thought impossible with a mean fist fighting me for breath. 

And it all started with one small-big brave thing: making breakfast and packing my mini diva’s lunch for school. 

There is light though it may seem far and fleeting.

Today I will do one brave thing. Join me? —we are braver together. And for the record: you are brave. You are significant. You are so strong and I am very proud of you my friend.

Three of the many who bring me back from the depths. I'm grateful.