When You Step Up to the Door...and It Closes and Locks Right In Front of You

Blindside. Holy cow. I couldn't prevent it. I couldn't prepare for it. And...I barely have the strength to recover from it. It flipped my world upside down and backwards, and wreaked havoc with my heart and mind, sneaking in with such stealth that I couldn't anticipate the force of its awful blow.

I can barely function. It feels like the emotional equivalent of a severe stomach flu. I feel like I'm glued to my mattress when I first open my eyes to the bright sunlight pouring through my window in the early morning hours. And I resist the idea of going to bed at night until I can barely hold myself upright, because I don't want to have to get up again in the morning. My thoughts weigh heavy on my depression saturated brain. Surges of intense sadness savagely overwhelm me, and sudden bursts of tears, as if on cue, race down my cheeks and drip all over my freshly washed clothes.

I am a mess. Instinctively I want to be left alone. But the intensity of the loneliness inside me is insane. I'm so weary mentally and emotionally, and physically, that I can't think or not think. I know that's so contradictory. But it's the truth. I can't keep my mind in the present moment. But I can't stop thinking about what happened. There are a million things I should be doing, but I can't make sense of any order or priority.

Time is critical, but it passes in an uneven cadence. Sometimes minutes seem like days, and days seem like minutes. I find I must dig deep and be motivated to keep going because life changing decisions are staring me in the face. When I look ahead, I'm filled with a sense of urgency, but I long for the day of peaceful realization that everything has fallen into place with life settled into a predictable pattern of familiarity. I want full disclosure of the outcome, but dread the process that will eventually lead me there. I am filled with anxiety; I can't afford to do nothing, as that will lead to even more stress and overwhelm in the coming weeks. And no one else shares in the responsibility of making those decisions. I stand completely alone. I have no one to blame if I sink, or if I swim.

I hate doing this by myself. It's an overwhelming thing to shoulder the future alone. Unlike the "Choose Your Own Adventure" books my children used to read, determining which page to turn to next in this chapter of my life leaves me feeling a little very apprehensive; one wrong turn and I may get caught in the unintentional demolition of my carefully thought out plans. One more drastic plot twist just doesn't work for me at this point.

So every day I choose to get out of my bed. I choose to kneel in prayer to petition God for strength, and guidance, and peace. I choose to shower and get dressed, put on my makeup and fix my hair. I choose to go for a walk so I can clear my head for just a few minutes to focus and prioritize, and plan how to best manage my time. I choose to sit with my emotions instead of stuffing them down into the bottomless pit of hopelessness and despair. I choose to avoid the temptation to waste time scrolling on social media, or mindlessly binging on Netflix drama. I choose to eat well and avoid junk food. I choose to keep myself hydrated. And I choose to believe someday I will look back and see the beautiful lessons and blessings that will surely come from this gut wrenching experience.

It's hard. And it's exhausting on every level. But I'm pushing through. And eventually I'm going to be okay. I don't know how this mess is going to turn out. But one day, one choice, one action at a time will somehow eventually make it very clear.

I'm all in. Are you with me?