January Journal: Day 23



I decided that it's finally time for me to go back to counseling. I also decided that the way I want to tell my new counselor what feels broken inside of me is by handing her this piece of notebook paper with quotes I wrote down last night.

I may also tell her about the solidarity I feel with the people of Israel, who were enslaved but whom God wanted to bring out of Egypt and to himself, to be the recipient of God's rest.

I don't appear to be enslaved, do I? (You don't have to answer that.) I consider myself a high-capacity and high-functioning "imprisoned" person. So no one would even have to know.

But the fact that there's no time in my life to spill something, no time to get someone a band-aid, no time to fill up the van with gas, and certainly no time to take a mental reprieve from running the show, probably means my life is a good candidate for What's Wrong With This Picture? I think I'm not supposed to strive for this super-human way of interfacing with life. I need to take it down a notch, or in the words of Anne Lamott, Lower the bar. Or in the other words of Anne Lamott, what ev. 

I imagine myself starting out my first counseling session tomorrow, hoping to convey the fact that the broken part of me doesn't know how to rest or enjoy or be. The other broken part of me thinks if I control my life, every facet, and nothing (and no one) interferes, then I will be happy. It's a lie. But I believe it. A lot.

I want to have room in my life to be a person. And not just a person, but a person for others (thanks again, Annie). I want to be more sufferable in my personal life. I want to depend and not demand. I want to say a "holy yes" to whatever happens. I want to lighten up, consistently. I want to try not to author my own salvation. I want to experience joy in sacrifice. I want to be a person who loves being ruled, and not by myself.

All is not lost, or bad, or dramatic. There are, and have been, many glimmers of hope since the last time I was in counseling several years ago. I have moments of joy in writing and in parenting and in friendship for sure. But I know the life I've created for myself has been crafted rather precariously, like I'm holding my breath and hoping your next move (or mine) won't topple the whole thing over like in Jenga. It's not a way to live forever.

I have many wants and many hopes, but my greatest desire is freedom from wanting certain things to happen.

May God hear my prayer and answer. May this new counselor have wisdom. May my heart be open to leaving behind the Egypt I am used to in so many ways. May you say a prayer for me. (Thank you!)