Uncomfortable

Change can be scary. Growth can be scary. Vulnerability can be scary. Healing can be scary. It’s all so unfamiliar. 

The clouds, the spirals, the isolation, the dark, they’re terrible, but they’re familiar. 

The girl I was four years ago is not wholly me anymore. Since then I’ve broken and mended countless times—usually feeling like I wasn’t going to make it. 

I’ve started therapy—which took a few tries to find someone I connected with. 

I’ve started taking medication—which was a long process full of breaking down shame mixed with trial and error. 

I’ve been to hospitals and inpatient facilities a few times—which was certainly uncomfortable, yet I felt so understood there. People could put words to feelings and habits I didn’t even consciously realize I had. I found hope in those places. 

I’ve quit jobs, jobs where I worked with people and kids I loved dearly. I quit because if I didn’t stop and learn how to care for myself, then I would never be able to care for anyone well again. I was all poured out. I felt guilty. I felt ashamed. But it opened the door to a long season of healing I desperately needed. 

I’ve walked through doubt in myself, my faith, my calling, my relationships, and my worth. 

There have been times when it all seemed like too much work and I just wanted to give up. Sometimes I did. Then, somehow, by the gentle care and compassion of another, I would be revived, not always wholly, but enough to take one more step. 

So no, I’m not the same person. My relationships aren’t the same. My faith isn’t the same. My perspective isn’t the same. Maybe you wouldn’t recognize me anymore if we had a chat, and that’s uncomfortable. 

But, you would find a compassionate soul ready to listen and understand. You would find a woman who is learning to set boundaries on her time and energy. You would find the spirit of a teacher ready to love on students again. You would find a child of God who is finally learning the meaning of the Father’s unconditional love, endless grace, and peaceful, constant presence—for herself, not just others. You would see a reflective mind in need of more stillness and solitude. You would see a warrior enduring, ebbing and flowing with the tides of daily life and emotion. You would see a very imperfect person practicing how to live a healthy, abundant life in the midst of mental illness. 

I’d say I’m not successful every day, because some days are hard and dark and scary and I want to quit. But the fact that I’m still here, still breathing, means that I am completely successful. As long as I’m here, there will be time to rest, reframe, and try again. 

So listen to your body, listen to your mind, listen to your spirit. What do you need to be whole? It takes time. It’s scary and it’s uncomfortable, but I am glad that I started my journey instead of avoiding it because I know how much I’ve grown, learned, changed, and healed. It’s not perfect and it’s not linear, but it’s my path. So I’ll keep walking, even if they’re baby steps. 

As always, if you need a hand walking through any of it, I’m here ❤️ 

Be well friend,

Hennessy