I don’t like my mind right now 
Stacking up problems that are so unnecessary 
Wish that I could slow things down 
I wanna let go, but there’s comfort in the panic

And I drive myself crazy 
Thinking everything’s about me 
Yeah, I drive myself crazy 
‘Cause I can’t escape the gravity

You say that I’m paranoid 
But I’m pretty sure the world is out to get me 
It’s not like I make the choice 
To let my mind stay so fucking messy

I know I’m not the center of the universe 
But you keep spinning ’round me just the same 

I’m holding on 
Why is everything so heavy? 
Holding on 
To so much more than I can carry

I keep dragging around what’s bringing me down 
If I just let go, I’d be set free 
Holding on 
Why is everything so heavy?

~Linkin Park (feat. Kiiara)

My choice of song title and lyrics, here, probably give the impression that I’m not okay. Especially considering that I haven’t written in far too long.

I’m okay.

It’s really frustrating me, that I’m finding it difficult to pour out my thoughts into my own blog. One I created some EIGHT YEARS ago, as an outlet for them. I’ve written about my deepest sorrows, my hardest struggles, my greatest joy, and everything in between. I found real healing, from the process of forming my thoughts into these words that filled the “pages” of my blog. I learned things about myself, through simply acknowledging things I was feeling, here. I genuinely got to know and understand who I was, and why, in ways I hadn’t before. It’s not always easy, putting words down, into sentences and then paragraphs, but it allowed me to get out of my own head. Sort of like letting go of things I’d held onto, for such a long time. I so badly want to keep pouring myself out, into my blog. It’s been tough for me to do it, though. Partly because of choices I made, in the past, to share some of the pieces of these incredibly raw and vulnerable things I’d once written inside here. I’m really uncomfortable with the fact that my story, my life, could be accessed by anyone who’s no longer welcome inside it. I don’t want to be writing anything specifically directed to someone else. I’m not interested in conversations with someone who’s been relegated only to my past. I know that I can’t be honest, if I’m having to carefully curate my words, because I’m fearful over them landing in the ears of someone who might twist them to fit a narrative, or who might expose my most intimate and personal feelings and experiences. It seems silly, in a way, because I’ve literally opened myself up to an entire online audience, but you’re here because something I’ve shared has been relatable to you. Not because you’re prying into my world, gathering up information that could be used as ammunition to hurt me. Even more than all that, I need to move the fuck on. There is this knee-jerk reaction, when I’m accused of something I haven’t done, or been lied to and about. I spent way too much of my time attempting to defend myself and my family, against bullshit, and to anybody who actually believed it. I’ve come to realize, that’s absolutely pointless. “Those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter.” That’s my favorite quote, and it couldn’t be truer. It’s one thing to falsely paint some grotesque version of me, that never existed. It’s a whole other thing, if it’s accepted and believed by others. Not others who’ve never known me, but those whom I’d always expected would know me better than that. It honestly doesn’t make a difference, if time has proven I’m not the most vile things said about me. It doesn’t change the reality of those who said them, or of those who could have ever believed them.

I spent such a long time questioning who I even was. Who I am, now. Wondering, how could anyone have been capable of believing that I wasn’t the person I’ve always proven myself to be? I laid myself bare, before those I’d loved and cared for. I never hid from my flaws or mistakes. I didn’t put on some elaborate disguise, meant to fool those I let know me, into believing in me, or loving me back. Sure, there are certain things that are only shared with my husband. Some things only reserved for those I thought I could trust most in this world. There were no shameful secrets, though. No parts of myself that I kept hidden, because if exposed, I’d no longer be trusted, wanted, or loved. I don’t let people “in”, easily. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been cautious about opening up myself and those close to me. I wear a brave face. I put on a smile, and I can easily make small talk with folks, but really getting to know me takes time. There are few people, who I’ve felt confident I can be my whole self with. That I could show my weaknesses to, and who I explicitly trusted never ever would use their knowledge of where I hurt the most, to turn and inflict maximum damage upon me. Despite this urge to protect myself, I’ve still managed to welcome in people I never should’ve. I’ve chosen to overlook clear and glaring warnings, that signaled serious potential danger lie ahead. I’ve made excuses for some unbelievably cruel things, done by people I repeatedly convinced myself truly cared about me, and about what they’d done to me. I’d tell myself, that wasn’t who they are. I knew who they were, and whatever choices lead them to threaten or to damage me and my family, those were involuntary responses to trauma that was never their fault. If I just love them enough. If I refuse to let go, no matter how hard they might push me, they’ll change. I forgave, time and time and time again. What in the hell is wrong with me, that I can be so utterly shocked when they ripped out my heart, and proceeded to trample over it?

None of this was what I came here to say, though. What I really hope to convey, is this sense of peace I’ve grown to feel. I’m not angry, anymore. I’m not broken. I’m not lost. I was keenly aware of the rain clouds that hung over me, and followed me everywhere I went. For far longer than I’d ever imagined possible, those clouds prevented the warmth and light that the sunshine brings. They blocked it from anyone who stood near me, too. I felt so guilty, for dimming the light over every single person around me. I’ve quit carrying that shame, and blaming myself for needing someone. The truth is, there are times when we’re stuck inside a terrible storm. Sometimes, we all just need someone to love us enough to come sit with us, in the rain. It’s inside the most unbearable place I’ve ever been trapped within, that I found the greatest sources of strength. I don’t need everyone to love me. I can’t do it alone, though. I have so many people, who stayed with me, through that dark and difficult time. My focus is on them, and that truth, rather than the hurt generated from rhetoric and lies. Not even this incredible series of unfortunate events have defined which paths I’m allowed to take. No person possesses the power to determine the future which I’m entitled to strive towards. My spirit cannot be broken, stolen, or destroyed. I’ve spent time with God, everyday, over the last several months. I discovered that, not only does He speak to me, I can hear Him. Not “hear”, as in an auditory voice being spoken. (Don’t worry, I haven’t suddenly developed schizophrenia.) It’s the way I’ve seen Him guide my thoughts, revealing things I’d never have otherwise understood. My most recent example of what I’m talking about, was last week. I was driving, alone in my car, listening as my stereo played all my favorite treble, mid, and bass notes, in one of the songs from my “favorites” playlist. It occurred to me that heaven probably doesn’t play songs like that one, over their speakers. I felt a pang of sadness, about that. Immediately, a verse I’d vaguely known from the Bible, sprung into my mind. When I was a child, I thought as a child. I behaved as a child. When I became a man, I put away childish things. Then, I thought of the things I loved, as a child. I don’t crank up songs like “baby shark”, or the theme song from a show about a puppet named “Lambchop”, that forever goes “this is the song that doesn’t end. Yes it goes on and on my friend. Some people started singing it, not knowing what it was, and they’ll continue singing it forever just because…” As great as that music was to my little ears, it certainly isn’t my style, now that I’m grown. That’s exactly how so many of my questions about finding pleasure in Heaven, without things I’ve enjoyed here, were so perfectly answered for me, in that one simple explanation. It all began to make sense. That is how God talks to me, and it’s a comfort that I’m incapable of describing.

I’ve been working on my relationship with Christ, but also with my family and my friends. I’ve reacquainted myself with my husband, in ways I hadn’t done in awhile. His hands have reintroduced themselves to my behind, too. Although, mostly just in fun. I’ve spent a lot of time with my girls. It’s Summer break, so Mj and I hang out everyday. Mikayla got an internship, in Knoxville, over the Summer. She’s busy! We went down there, about a week ago, and spent the weekend with her. She’ll be home on Thursday, for a long weekend, over the fourth. We’ve got plans to go out boating, with some friends. Then, we’re going to come back to our house to swim in the pool, bbq some supper, and then set off some fireworks, along with the neighborhood. I’m looking forward to it, a lot!

I know I’ve gone on a few long hiatuses, over the years, and I really do apologize for being MIA, with no explanation. I’m trying to navigate through the messes. As much as I sometimes do want to defend myself and my family, I refuse to aim the spotlight over onto someone else’s ugly mess. Even if it reveals who’ve actually been responsible for them, and could clear me and mine of an undeserved blame for it. That’s another big lesson I’ve learned, out of a long and difficult journey, through the hardest season of my life. Even if I can’t fully comprehend what or where I’m meant to go next, or how any of this might one day make sense to me, I know I’m not alone. I trust that one day, sooner or later, all the pieces will fit, and I’ll look back with gratitude for something beautiful that could come out of even the most painful things I’ve endured. I found myself on a ship that was sinking. We searched for something to keep us afloat. Then, we spent long days, praying for rescue that didn’t seem to be coming. So, we swam. And we swam. And we swam some more. When we finally got out of that ocean, we were exhausted and frail. The celebration, after we knew we’d made it onto the shore, wasn’t quite the “end”. As much of a relief as it was, we weren’t back home yet. What I’ve been up to, was about recovering. Finding my way back to my husband, my children, family, friends, and to Christ. They’ve all helped me to feel safe, again, and it’s with and through all of them that I was able to find myself. To reclaim my identity, and to be unapologetic about choosing to do so. I can breathe. I can relax. I can put down the sword and shield I’ve been carrying. I’m home, and I’m done feeling ashamed of having the courage to move on without the ones who didn’t believe in me.