Well. Long time, no see. I know, It’s been a long time since I’ve shared an actual blog post on here. And as I sit here and write, I’m still not really sure what to say, yet I feel as though I have so much to pour out.
Perhaps that is the problem. Too many words, thoughts, and emotions to share; too little time left in the day. With that knowledge I should just jump right in and sort the details out later, I guess.
The complete and honest truth as to why I haven’t been posting blogs lately is because I was mad at God. There. I said it. I was mad and I didn’t have the energy or desire to reconcile with him. And despite my buttheadedness, he was patient with me, he gave me time to work through it, like, really work through it, not just half-heartedly (isn’t that just like his good nature?). God never forced me to run back to him. He let me push him away, he let me cry, he let me shake my fists at him, he let me feel what I needed to – all the while waiting with his arms wide open and reminding me of his sweet love.
But the process was long, and painful, and through it the answers were not clear. My anger was a wall that did not want to let God back in; and my writing reflected that. Writing is a form of healing for me at times, and I was harbouring pain that I did not want to let go of. I wanted to hold onto my pain and truly feel it. I wasn’t ready to heal. And I think that’s okay. It’s part of the process. We all go at different paces in the process of pain and healing. My pain, and the process of dealing with that pain, were not allowing me to write and pour my heart out here, because I was not at the point of healing yet.
The source of my anger – this is the part that I have tried to write out countless times. It’s at this part that I usually put my pen down and close my notebook. For a long time I didn’t understand why I refused to share this part. But last week, while I was volunteering as a camp counsellor, I was sitting in the woods playing a camp wide-game. This particular night I was paired with a co-counsellor and as we sat in the rain being eaten by mosquitos, we talked about God, our journeys, and our struggles. And somewhere between the buzzing and bites the truth bubbled up without even thinking. Amidst attempts at repressing my anger I stammered, “I guess it’s a pride thing…”.
Well, wow. The truth of that hit me hard. Like, real talk, I am too proud to admit that something is actually wrong with me. I am too proud to show weakness. I am too proud to admit that I need help. I’m too proud to sound whiny or weak. I guess at times I feel as if pride is the only strength I have left. But ,as I sit and think about it, when I let go of my pride I let love in. When I let go of my pride I see that pride is in no way an actual form of strength, but rather an ugly mar, a weak link, in the beauty of life.
So, here we go, time for me to get real (the SparkNotes version)… the past three years I have been struggling with some challenging health issues that have knocked me flat on my butt. Doctor’s appointment after doctor’s appointment I was told that nothing was wrong with me, there was nothing to worry about. But I knew something was wrong. I knew how I felt wasn’t normal. I mean, there were days I couldn’t even get out of bed. I couldn’t do the activities I once loved. I was wiped of all energy; I was sick all the time; I felt like I was drowning in cement. Every action felt weighed down. Every cell in my body felt worn out. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I had never experienced anything like this before.
Three long years of this ( with it fluctuating up and down aka seasons of flare-ups), a lot of doctors appointments, and some tests later, and I finally received a diagnosis just over a month ago. I was diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome— also known as Pots. Which is just a fancy way of saying that my autonomic functions are whack (obviously there’s a lot more going on, but that’s for another time). While it felt nice to have some sort of answers, it was also an emotional roller coaster. And at the end of that roller coaster waited more questions. I had no answers or cures to fix it immediately (or even certainly).
All I received for certain was more tests and more appointments. All off this was all happening in the middle of a bad flare-up. Which meant I had no energy; the grit and fight that were once within me were gone. In their absence I was left sick and tired (literally) and angry at God.
Someday I hope to share a more detailed account of the emotional and physical journey that I experienced (and still experience) while I struggled with the unknown mystery illness, that I now know is Pots. Because, in my opinion, chronic illness is something that can wreak havoc on an individual’s life, yet so few on the outside understand the way it takes its toll. There are many physical and mental complexities that wear you down. However, that is a story for another day. A day when I have more strength and more healing. In addition, it is for a day when I can finally articulate three inexplainable years, and an illness that is constantly evolving, into words.
To be honest, there was no real point I was trying to get at with this post. I just wanted to be real. I wanted to break down the pride that was stopping me from sharing my story. But, most importantly, I wanted to say that I see you where you are at – in this messy broken life—and while our pain may not be the same, I still see you. I see you in the anger and in the pain. But even more important, God sees you. I know this without a doubt now more than ever, and not only does he see you, he loves you.
No matter what you are going through, what pain you are feeling or repressing, or whatever anger you are harbouring… God sees you and is there with you amidst it all. Even if that doesn’t feel true (because I know that it often doesn’t) he is.
No matter what you are going through or where you are he will be there for you with open arms ready for you whenever you are ready. Don’t carry this burden, pain, and anger alone. Surrender it over to him.
God has a plan, and even though it might not seem good, it is.