Living in the Mystery

 I look back today and can see how much of my life I tried to control.

I thought control would keep me safe.

But underneath all that control was a frightened little girl.

The adult in me eventually learned how to make good, healthy decisions. I learned how to take care of myself, how to make choices, and how to navigate life.

But that little girl was still there.

Still watching.

Still anticipating.

Still wanting to know what was coming next.

And now I find myself in a completely different chapter.

A place where so much is unknown.

Where everything can feel fragile.

I don’t have the answers I once thought I needed to have.

I can’t see very far ahead.

And maybe that is the mystery.

Maybe life was never meant to be completely figured out.

For so long, I believed that if I could just understand enough, plan enough, prepare enough, and control enough, I could finally feel safe.

But perhaps safety isn’t found in knowing what comes next.

Perhaps it is found in knowing that I can meet whatever comes next.

I don’t know what this chapter will bring.

And for the first time, I’m trying not to force an answer.

I’m just now learning to live in the mystery.

To breathe.

To trust.

To take today as it comes.

Love Wins

 Can you think of something you really wanted to do, but fear got in the way?

That’s how I sometimes feel about doing the inner work.

It can be deeply challenging.

And somehow, at the same time, deeply rewarding.

Just when I thought I had learned how to love and care for my little girl, I discovered there was another layer.

She wasn’t only living in my memories.

She was still living in my nervous system.

And that has brought some new challenges.

I’m not going to say it’s fun.

Being in pain is never fun.

But once again, I believe that pain has something to teach me.

Perhaps this is another opportunity to meet my little girl with compassion instead of fear.

Another opportunity to teach her that she doesn’t have to be perfect.

That she doesn’t have to earn safety.

That she doesn’t have to be afraid of punishment.

I don’t know exactly where this journey is taking me.

I don’t have all the answers.

But I know something I’ve learned over and over again:

Fear may get loud.

Pain may get loud.

But in the end,

love always wins.

Teaching the Body Safety

 I’ve worked on healing my little girl for many, many years.

So much has changed.

The shame.

The guilt.

The feelings of worthlessness.

The beliefs I was taught as a child that I now know were never true.

I’ve changed the stories.

But here’s the catch.

I’m beginning to understand that trauma isn’t only something we remember with our minds. The nervous system can learn patterns of protection, and those patterns can continue long after the original danger is gone.

I had no idea this was possible until a few months ago.

I’m learning about the relationship between the brain, the nervous system, and pain. And I’m beginning to understand that the nervous system can play a powerful role in how we experience physical pain, as well as emotional experiences like anxiety and fear.

This has changed the way I look at healing.

 My body needs something different now.

Safety.

It’s time to teach my nervous system that I am safe.

Not by forcing it.

Not by arguing with it.

Not by demanding that it heal.

But gently.

Patiently.

Over and over again.

You are safe now.

You are not that little girl anymore.

The danger has passed.

You don’t have to brace anymore.

Maybe this is where freedom begins.

Not in making the past disappear.

But in teaching the body that it doesn’t have to keep living there.

Trying to Please God

 As I continue through this process of healing—both physically and emotionally—I sometimes feel like I’m getting it all wrong.

I hear that little girl inside me crying out to God:

Please tell me what to do.

I’ll do anything you tell me.

I want to be a good little girl.

I just want to feel loved.

I just want to feel safe.

And I don’t know how to get there.

I recognize that voice.

It’s the voice of a child who learned that being good might keep her safe.

That following the rules might keep her from getting in trouble.

That pleasing others might earn her the love she so desperately wanted.

And somehow, even now, that little girl is still looking outside herself for the instructions.

Tell me what to do, God.

Give me the rules.

Tell me how to heal.

Tell me how to get this right.

But maybe God isn’t asking me to get it right.

Maybe I don’t have to earn love.

Maybe I don’t have to perform for safety.

Maybe I don’t have to become the perfect good little girl.

Maybe what I’ve been searching for all these years was never something I could earn.

Maybe I was already loved.

And perhaps the healing now is learning to let that be enough.

Finding Our Voice

  I started blogging many years ago, and I found it incredibly helpful to share parts of my life out loud.

By the time I began blogging, I had already cleaned out a lot of shame.

Healing my shame gave me the freedom to speak my truth.

I didn’t have to hide parts of my story anymore.

I could talk about my experiences, my struggles, my growth, and the things I was learning along the way.

For me, blogging became a form of therapy.

Putting my thoughts into words helped me understand them. And sometimes, sharing them with others reminded me that I wasn’t alone.

There is a comment section below my shares.

If something I’ve written touches you, brings something up for you, or makes you think about your own journey, feel free to share your thoughts and feelings.

Sharing our stories is another way we remind each other:

We don’t have to carry everything alone.