I challenged her to write a post in which she doesn’t mention her past

I forgave myself today, kneeling at the altar.

You can’t move forward if you’re angry at the past–

angry at yourself for things that are not your fault,

for relapses you could’ve controlled if you had just. . .

just . . . re  a   c  h  e   d   out,

for relationships you purposefully sabotaged because you don’t feel worth anything.

Maybe forgiveness can’t change the past, but maybe

it can change the future.

I cried at the altar today, got angry at the altar today, wanted to scream at the altar today.

I feel sometimes as though I’m being to/rn in two–

the part of me that wants to die fighting against the part that wants to live,

a tug of war with my soul

(I want to live).

Forgiveness can’t change the past,

but perhaps

perchance

purposefully

it can change the future.

The future–God can find us in our brokenness–

is waiting for us in our brokenness–

meets us in our brokenness–

is beautiful.

I challenged her to write a post in which she doesn’t mention her past–what happened to her,

he said to him as they sat across from me, my head buried in my hands.

I forgave myself today.

I was angry today, trying to turn it all over to God,

but Satan?

He won’t let me.

The punk.

What do you want to do with your life? He asked,

as I sat in his office, trying to hold back the tears threatening to overflow from my eyes.

I want my story to be used for good, make a difference, beauty from ashes.

I want to know that there’s a purpose for all of this, not a giant game of yo-yo with my existence.

Breathe in for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

How many animals begin with J?

On a scale from 1-10, how are you?

Why can I help someone else out of a panic attack but can’t help myself?

My mind goes blank as soon as I get to 100.

100

99

98

97

count backward and breathe.

I forgave myself today,

trying to move forward,

Here’s his phone number. Promise me you’ll use it in case of an emergency.

Right now, I’m moving through the fire–and this fire?

Future?

I don’t know where it will take me.

Hopefully somewhere great.

But right now? This journey ahead–

looks

daunting. threatening. foreboding. And,

I’m not always sure I can do it. I

forgave myself today. For things that may happen in the future

as I walk , walk , walk , this

w

i

n

d

i

n

g

p

a

t

h

of healing.

Because I don’t know what the future holds, but I want to be a part of it.

I’m chasing happiness, and though it feels like a 50pound weight is

d

r

a

g

g

i

n

g

me down, i still stand.

I move forward.

I breathe.

And I let go.

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This is how you move forward

She’s one of the strongest young women I know, he said as they sat across from me, burying my face in my hands. Because despite what they were telling me, despite two of my biggest supports sitting across from me telling me, with tears in their eyes, I still didn’t think I was worth it.

I had signed the release form months ago: why shouldn’t a therapist be allowed to speak to a pastor, figure out the best plan to help me heal, cooperatively, emotionally and spiritually. Healing isn’t a one-man job. It takes a community. An army. A whole support of people. A group of ants can lift a potato chip. A group of people can lift a burden of years of hurt and trauma.

This is how you move forward.

I’m panicking about the future because I don’t know how to live for it, I said in his truck on the way back to work from the hospital.

Maybe you don’t live for the future. Maybe you live for the present, the current moment, he replied.

The current moment. The present. How does one live for the current moment without reverting back to the past? Without trying to frame it around the trauma? Without having the memories echo down the empty halls of the feelings I have at the moment?

Right now, I feel numb. But numbness doesn’t mean not healing. Healing means allowing yourself to feel all the feelings as they come.

This is how you move forward.

You learn to rely on your own strength–finding the balance between reaching out and reaching inward. Sometimes your biggest support lies within yourself. The strongest thing you can do is realize you are able to do this on your own. You have the skills within you, the support around you, and the love outside of you to make this happen.

I can make this happen.

This is how you move forward.

You realize that this isn’t going to be easy. I’m terrified right now. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’ve started to live for it: lying next to me on the couch as I write this is a dog, so dependent on me, she follows me into the bathroom. Monday, I had a conversation with another pastor about meeting God at the altar and turning things over to Him. And this pastor had so many things to say about my future–being a voice for the broken, writing and speaking the stories of people who don’t have the words to speak for themselves.

I never wanted to be any of those things. Never thought my brokenness could be used for good. Never thought beauty could come from my ashes. The future? The future is something I’m so unsure of.

This is how you move forward.

You acknowledge that the future can be terrifying, but you live because this life is beautiful, even if the road is long and dark up ahead.

This road is long and dark up ahead, but I see this light trying to push through like the sun after the rain, and that’s enough to keep me going. Because I don’t know what the future holds. But this I do know: I don’t walk this path alone.

This is how you move forward: you breathe. In and out. You take one step and then another. You get back up when you fall down.

You get a job. You buy a car. You get a job. You continue to go to therapy even though it hurts. You allow yourself to feel the pain, even if the pain tells you to give up.

This is how you move forward: you face each day, you face each unknown with the courage and determination that’s gotten you this far.

Because you’ve made it this far. And you can keep going.