I know I have mostly written and shared messages of hope and optimism during this weird and crazy season, and maybe that’s been frustrating to some of you who are really struggling. I’m here today to tell you that I don’t always feel like a ray of sunshine, or full of hope, optimism, excitement, and warm fuzzies. Right now I feel pretty low. I feel frustrated both with the way all the doors that seemed to be opening to me at the start of March have all slammed shut, and with the fact that the fear of this virus threatens to undo all the hard won progress I have made with my OCD. This is the time of year I should be experiencing so much freedom (from worrying about the Flu) and beginning to get out and do things! I should be making trips to the farmers market, the library, the garden store, but I’m not. Instead, I find myself terrified of what’s going to happen when Scott has to work in the office again, and already fighting shame knowing it’s going to take me longer than most to feel comfortable stepping back into any kind of normalcy. The duality of deeply craving normalcy (which I have not had since 2016) and being terrified is really hard. I’m tired. I just finished crying my eyes out for no specific reason before writing this, and it helped, some. But I’m still feeling funky.

I do still have so much hope and positive expectation for what God is doing and will do. I really do. I am so encouraged by changes I see in myself, victories I have every day in becoming bolder, stronger, more purposeful, and intentional. This time has been good for me already. I’m getting up early, pushing myself and getting stronger in my workouts, I’m showering every day and washing my face twice a day. I reached out to my lifelong hero. I outlined my first book last week. I do not wake up terrified almost ever anymore. I write almost every single day. I am learning to capitalize “I” when I am typing. I’m not letting go of any of that.

The negative feelings are there though, and it would be dishonest and unhealthy to deny that. I have to feel them, sit in them, and let them be what they are. They will pass, and the light will return.

Until then, I will have to pursue the light. Today that might mean sitting outside in the literal sunshine, and maybe even crying some more.

Because it can be both, y’all.