I tend to reflect at this point every year. Four Novembers ago, I reluctantly decided I was done. I was done playing games and wearing masks. I was done living enslaved to calories and societal standards. I was done pretending I had my life together. Four years ago I walked into my counselor’s office and thus entered, to this day, the darkest and most difficult season of my life.
Letting go of my eating disorder was letting go of a part of me that ruled me for years. It wasn’t easy. I spent days on my bedroom floor weeping. I walked through the aftermath of an abusive relationship, depression and intense anxiety. I felt like my life was spiraling out of control. It’s funny because I thought I had control of my life, but until I surrendered, I realized the sense of control I had was only a hoax. Fighting against my eating disorder and accepting my past trauma led me to freedom, to the arms of a gracious God who has given me more life than the one I previously lived.
It’s been four years since I entered that scary season. It lasted a solid six months. Six months of what I refer to as my “crisis.” My identity was stripped and I was forced to rebuild and rediscover.
This November, November 2016, is easily the hardest season I’ve walked through since my crisis days. I lost my sweet Grammy to breast cancer and too many personal curve balls (thought it was necessary with the recent World Series results) keep coming my way.
This season is hard and painful and I’ve spent a lot of nights crying, but this year as I reflect, I am so thankful for the dark days four years ago. It was in that pit that I saw the faithfulness of God. I saw his grace and his love. I found my identity, security, and confidence. Those dark days where my faith took root change the way I walk through the pain of this season.
My faith hasn’t been shaken by the countless challenges that Steve and I have faced these past few months. My confidence in God’s sovereignty has deepened and I’ve found more rest in my desperation than I can describe.
If you’re in your crisis or walking through a difficult season, I pray you find rest even if your circumstances never change. I pray you find rest knowing that your faith, though being tested more than you like, is worth it. It’s worth the pain because Jesus is so worth it. You aren’t alone. You aren’t. I promise.
If there’s ways I can be praying for you, please reach out! I’d love to walk with you in this season even if it’s only through a cyber prayer request.
This photo was taken in 2014, the last Thanksgiving I got to spend with my favorite lady. There's no judgement in openly weeping at a coffee shop, right? Ok good because that's def happening.