regression.

I haven’t been feeling myself all week, and with the weekend, came the anxiety perhaps I have been trying my best all week to avoid. It is never just one thing, but a series of collective things that I find push me past the spaces I would be less inclined to sit in. If I am completely honest with myself, it is something perhaps I could have managed and anticipated better with greater diligence. The stressors of the week were inevitable, but in hindsight I should have been a little bit more intentional than I was in practicing my own mindfulness.

As much as I hate the regression, I find that it has always been a quiet reminder, that growth and transformation is never linear, and that failed starts, or backspaces are a natural and cohesive part of the human experience. That gratitude begins and grows from grief, and from the spaces perhaps that we would rather not re-live. I’ve had multiple conversations with people in the last little while on the subject of fear, and growing idle in fear, as the thought of how we expect things to turn out often have the tendency to keep us small. The experiences that carry their own sense of lament, which perhaps all of us hold; pieces we thought we once collectively walked through, but often carry with them, an unbalanced weight that often catch us off guard.

Whatever the next few days and weeks will hold, I will commit myself to the faithful art of surrender. To understand that there is privilege that exists in the dutiful outworking of process. To know that these feelings will soon pass (like the ones that came before it), and that nature abhors a void. That gratitude will continue to be my foundation in all things as my faith stirs for the promise of His goodness to come.