I didn’t get out of bed until 11am.
Yesterday I took a mid-day nap and fell asleep reading shoulder to shoulder with our oldest at 8pm.
Motivation has withered.
Purpose is foggy.
I applied at the library- the library, friends. The very one which holds my book on its shelf, and I couldn’t even get an interview.
Bryan has applied for over 50 jobs. It feels like 100.
All around us is space and beauty and silence.
I’ve reached out for mentors. Silence.
Emailed local authors and creatives to connect. Silence.
I’ve applied for jobs.
I’ve laid everything down only to hear… silence.
You noticing a theme?
No wonder I’m sitting in a situational depression interim.
Maybe you too?
Are you hoping for a home, a job, a purpose, a partner, a pregnancy? An answer, an affirmation, a word? Something?
Silence triggers all those uncomfortable switches and turns the volume of discomfort way up.
Yes, Annie, the sun will come up.
He will (and is) providing.
Yes, a verse is out there.
But for now, how do we experience hope when quite frankly, hopelessness is the main entree?
We stay in the silence.
We stay when we want to run or self-protect or make some sort of noise to distract from what’s happening below the surface.
We stay in the quiet because staying is the only way to know we are okay beyond our circumstances.
We stay because we are men and women who know staying is the brave work of becoming our created selves.
We stay because putting on shiny, fix-it bows ain’t our style.
We stay because the transformational work that occurs – one tiny day or nap or surrender at a time- happens in the mess, in the dark, in the quiet, in the un-shiny moments.
How do we stay in the silence, you ask? I’m asking the same question and here’s how I’m staying.
I’m being real about my situation. With my Father. With Bry. With safe friends. I’m telling them where I am and I’m asking them to hold my hands up when I haven’t the energy to. I’m fighting the need to put on a happy, positive quote at the end of, “I’m depressed. It’s quiet.”
I’m receiving when it feels counter-intuitive. What is there to receive in the silence? I haven’t the foggiest, but I’m willing to trust experience is different than expectations.
I’m savoring hope glimmers. I’m sipping coffee by the fire. I’m praying all day, e’ery day. I’m giving permission to be stripped down to my barest self. I’m letting my husband care for me, kiss me when I feel messy, and not allowing a single lie to penetrate when I tell myself I’m ruining my kids because their mom isn’t rockstar status at the present.
I’m settling into the silence and trusting hope awaits. Hope always awaits.
Perhaps the path leading to her doorstep is paved in silence.