Disappointed in Myself, in the Valley

I open up my computer, desperate to begin.

There is no rhyme or reason to my writing, my blog posts. A feeling, a topic, an entire "essay" will hit me in the middle of a run, in the middle of the night, in the middle of cooking dinner.  And then it rises and falls inside of my soul until I can get to a computer to just GET THE WORDS OUT.  The letters will fly onto the screen as my heart pours itself into a vulnerable space.  And while terrifying, I find refuge in my openness.  I find security in my transparency.  I find peace in my honesty.

So.

I've had that stirring inside of me again lately, the stirring that I need to get my words and feelings out of my body... I am struggling, I feel unsettled, unsteady.  And I know that I'll start to silence my inner-demons if I can just get lost in the therapeutic tap-tap-tapping of my keyboard.

So I open up my computer, desperate to begin.

And my soul silences itself.

Where did the words go?  Where are all of the thoughts and emotions I needed and wanted to work through??

So I closed the computer, and sat in His stillness.  A knot in my throat accompanying the pit in my stomach.

And I realize why I am hesitant to let it all escape... why, today, it doesn't feel as easy to pour out of myself...

My hesitancy to write today comes because today - and lately - I have been finding myself in my darkness.

Stuck.  Scared.  Doubting.  Second-guessing.

Just weeks ago I wrote about hope and light and sunshine and approaching this new decade with all of those things guiding my steps.  And I meant every word, and felt the hope and light and sunshine in the deepest parts of how He wove me.

And then January...

It captured my light.  Stole it.  Stripped it away.  And I have been fighting like hell for weeks to keep moving forward, to keep clinging onto my faith, to keep hope in my heart and in my prayers and in each and every breath.

January - it is the worst month for my PTSD.  It triggers allllll the things.  Even when I am actively working to stay healthy mentally and emotionally. 

All it takes is the memory of a date on the calendar and what happened on that day, or a sound, or a voice, or a song, or the winter breeze.  And then my wound is gaping, my pain suffocating, my anger bubbling.

And I know it will always be there... that wound.  Those memories.  It will always be a part of who I am.  But it just doesn't seem fair when it all gets to swoop back in uninvited and make me feel sick to my stomach, stealing my joy.

My counselor calls it "the virus,"  which I've always found so fitting.  The virus of the memories, the scars - you can tuck it all away and work through the pain and heal and choose hope and joy and decide to live positively.  But I wouldn't be the honest, open, transparent Jessie I'm so proud to be if I didn't also let you know when my virus feels like it's winning.

That anger I mentioned a little bit ago?  This year, this season of PTSD has most of my anger directed toward myself.

I'm so mad at myself, so disappointed in myself.

Why do I let myself fall victim to it all?  Why can't I just stay happy and positive and eternally grateful and hopeful?  Why do I let any of my fears steal how far I've come?  I work every single day to recover, heal, grow, learn.  

I see a counselor regularly, read, study, talk to God, pray, journal, exercise/run out my stress and emotions, settle into joy with my kids, cherish time with my family and friends, sleep, write...  I get that it is a daily decision to stay in a hopeful place, but lately all that I do just doesn't feel like it is enough. Enough for me.

And I am so disappointed in myself.

I've been very reflective lately, asking myself the questions above, convicting myself.  Making myself really and truly take a deep dive into my "stuff."  Why does it still rock me so? 

I am so strong in my faith, so firm in my beliefs, so steady in my hope - and because of this I am able to choose every single day to live my life a certain way... yet lately I find myself feeling this kick in the gut - over and over and over again.

I know the external circumstances that have triggered me right now, and those I will keep private.  But internally?  I think I am finally getting a handle on why I am wrestling in a place of darkness.

I am scared.

I spent so much of the past couple of months alone, deep in thought and prayer and realizations.  Letting my heart and soul hope deeper than it quite possibly ever has.  It's like I've finally, truly, given myself permission to dream again, to wish, to long for wholeness and love and happiness and contentment and a firm, expectant faith.  And now that I've given myself permission to open myself up to the possibilities He has for me...

I am scared.

And fear? 

Fear will rob you.

I have been trying to fight it, to ignore it.  But during a time of year that rocks me to my core with the the most awful memories, fear found the perfect opportunity to grab my hand and pull me away from the peak I was fighting so hard to climb toward.

And now I find myself in the valley, disappointed in myself, alone.

Well, not alone.  I am in the valley with fear.

And fear breeds insecurity in me.  Doubt.  Worry.  Second-guessing.

In everything.

Fear breeds insecurity, doubt, worry, and second-guessing into my words, into my conversations with others, into my mama'ing, into my faith, into my friendships, into my relationships.

So the only way I know to fight fear, is to admit that it's here, with me...

And to admit that I am scared.

I am scared to long for the life I've been longing for, scared to dream of what my heart and soul so desperately crave, scared to trust Him with ALL of it, scared to try, scared of being broken again, scared of more scars, scared to keep being me, scared that I'm not enough, scared to hope...

And I don't know how or when I will look fear in the face and tell it it's a liar.  I don't know how I will keep hope in every step when I find myself struggling here, so disappointed in myself for allowing doubt to steal the essence of who I truly believe I am.

Today I don't have the answers, only the questions.  And today, I am hoping that by overcoming the fear to put all of this out there, I am taking a step back up toward the peak, out of the valley.  I felt the fear trying to sabotage my words today, and I wrote, anyway.  So if fear is trying to pull me away from my hope and away from the steadiness of my steps, maybe, just maybe, I can keep walking with hope, anyway...