I can’t tell you how many times I have been accused of “having it all together.”
“Ugh. If you only knew,” I think in response, while laughing it off.
But you don’t know, because I never told you.
I never told you I have chronic migraine.
I never told you I spend an average of 4 afternoons a week in a dark room hoping to rest enough to be able to participate in my evening ministry commitments.
I never told you I am terrified in new social situations, where I don’t know the people or the protocol.
I never told you that I need tons of affirmation before I really believe that what I just did was good enough.
I never told you that I stopped having babies because with three here and three miscarriages, I decided 6 pregnancies was enough and I didn’t want to risk more heartbreak.
I never told you that while I love my dad, his sexual addiction and life choices have wounded me so deeply that I am still discovering new places of pain.
I never told you that I get through the day by squeezing every drop of energy out of my reserve tank, and hope each night that I didn’t steal too much from tomorrow.
I also never told you these are the reasons I know that God is good, even in the hard things.
That “My grace is sufficient for you, because my power is made perfect in weakness,” holds special significance when all you feel is weakness.
That letting people help you blesses them.
That letting people in brings healing balm and comfort, even when it is scary.
That simply existing has value, that I am worthy of love even when I am capable of contributing nothing but breath.
And so are you.
When you see me, and my confident exterior, know that it covers so much.
When I sit with you and am quiet, it represents the deepest trust because I don’t have to be witty, or wise.
I don’t have it all together. I am guessing that you don’t either.
And that is ok.
Authenticity & self-acceptance.