when easter seems far away

A couple of you may have noticed that I suddenly stopped blogging about a month ago, in the middle of Lent. This was partly because life got in the way (2 last-minute out-of-town not-for-fun trips, spring break), and partly because I lost my voice. My writing voice. My inner voice. I felt a bit like I was losing my soul.

Which sounds horribly dramatic. It wasn't.

No particular event precipitated my crumbling. I suppose it was the trip to Durham which began the descent. Not the trip itself (which was good), but the coming home that didn't feel like coming home. This feeling is nothing unusual in my world, so I can't blame Durham, but that was the beginning. Or rather, that was the point at which I noticed. There is no beginning.

I recently read this Momastery post about what it's like to have mental illness (it's actually a follow-up post to this one; read them both). I make no claims to having mental illness like Momastery experiences, but I recognize the inborn feeling of "otherness" she describes. Sometimes I feel like I walk through life a little out-of-sync with the world around me. Like everyone copes with life better than me. Only my unhealthy coping mechanism is not bulimia or cutting or drugs. Mine is drawing inward. Becoming still. Too still.

But that stillness is just a mask for the churning inside. A churning that sometimes seems to burn away my margins, leaving me feeling brittle and raw.  It's a churning that ebbs and flows, not a constant.  And it's not something that leaves me unable to function, though I'm sure it makes me harder to live with!  But when the churning becomes a roar, it's hard for me to hear the small voice of hope and faith that still resides within.  It's still there, unconsumed but overwhelmed.

I won't go into details about the inner drama in this public space.  I'll just say that the churning has subsided somewhat for now, and I am working on some steps to keep it at bay.  But as my main goal for this space is a record for my children, I want to write this to them:

I hope and pray that you do not inherit my out-of-sync-ness, but if you do, please know that you are not alone. And though life may sometimes seem harder than it should be for no good reason, the brightness may also be brighter. Please ask for help when you need it. Talk to someone, even when you're not sure you have the words. Hold onto hope and life's gifts one day at a time.  And most of all, know that you are loved, oh-so-much, just as you are.