The Parts of Ourselves We Hide

It’s been one of those months that feels like a year.

We’ve been in the middle of a battlefield, both physically and spiritually, and it’s taken its toll.

I think sometimes in peacetime, we slowly learn how to present ourselves until no one can see the chaos swirling beneath. When something comes out from deep within that we don’t like or can’t control, we take it and pack it into the back of the wardrobe that is hidden deep within. We start to appear tidy and presentable, desperately hoping that we’re worthy of whatever we are aiming for. More often than not, that way of tidying is instinctive. No one leans into chaos and mess unless they’re deeply broken because when things start to feel out of our control, we are actually hardwired to search for order.

But then the war comes.

In the mess of it all, in order to help those who are hurting around us, we start handing out coats, you know, the pieces that are sitting clearly in the front of our cupboards. The nice jacket, the fancy shirt, the matching socks. The spare time we have, the extra money, the extra energy we’ve built up. We happily and easily give these away, because they’re spares, they don’t cost much, and it’s helping people, right? But then the war continues. And now we’re running out of clothes to offer. We’re getting to the old, dirty pieces at the back. We’re stressed and it’s starting to show. We’re crying in secret, yelling in the empty room, falling apart. Finally, the chaos that was hidden at the back, that has been molding and gathering dust, it’s now on brazen display for the ones around us to see.

I’m writing, now, of the pain and the chaos, and how it truly seems like an insurmountable quest to go into the deep and be able to come back out victorious. Some of us are blessed with the ability to hunt out the ugly parts of ourselves, name it, and agonisingly carve it out. Some of us aren’t. We have to be told. Those closest to us have to find within themselves the bravery and skill to lean in with a surgeon’s knife and cause pain in the hopes that healing will follow. And more often than not, those helping us are also bleeding out, in desperate need of care, while holding the blade that will save us.

And don’t think that it’s any easier being the one holding the blade. Because they’re not actually surgeons either. They’re the ones who jumped into the mess with their unskilled hands, and are now holding the scalpel while the actual doctor calmly directs them through the phone. The only way to do this is by bypassing all emotions and all questioning and choosing to blindly follow the voice on the other end of the call, trusting that their expertise will guide the unskilled hand.

The kicker? God is nearly always the last call I make when my world is falling apart.

Logic? Helpful. But not so much when you don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle. Which we never do.

Emotions? Don’t even get me started on how far up the garden path those bad boys have led me.

Friends? Good, but only as good as the information I give them.

God is the lifeline but he’s also the blood that pumps through our veins and we keep forgetting that. Until it’s leaking out.

Today, I’m writing in plural because I don’t think this has been a journey I’ve taken by myself, I think there are people I’m sharing life with that have been walking this path too, and it’s been equal parts heart-wrenchingly painful and deeply inspiring to watch. I’ve aired out some truly filthy laundry to people I’ve known barely seven months, and they’ve held it all with a grace that holds me together. I’ve watched truly inspiring people hold their ground and carve out deeply personal things, in a way that inspires me to follow.

This journey is never one that is meant to be taken alone. I’ve never felt more alone, but I think that’s the most sinister lie that we can allow ourselves to believe because sometimes it is truly just a feeling. We have this community of believers and friends around us that would be heartbroken if they understood just how truly alone we feel sometimes.

So this week, can I encourage you, dear reader. If you have feelings of being alone in the dark, fighting the deepest parts of yourself, can I encourage you? Can I speak words of truth to you? You are never alone. You are never alone.

You. Are. Never. Alone.

Let’s air out the closet. Let’s bandage each other up. Let’s face the mess together. It’s been a mare of a month but my closet is looking marginally better.

I truly hope one day soon I can bring the sunshine and the flowers in this blog. But for now, I’m letting the rain wash out all the dirt, and I’m hoping for that spring sun to pop up again soon.