Uncoil
I waited patiently for the Lord;
And He inclined to me and heard my cry.
He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay,
And He set my feet upon a rock making my footsteps firm.
Psalm 40:1-2
Stress has a funny way of working its way into your bones. Into the core of who you are. Of altering the way you carry yourself, the way you sleep at night, the way your face rests. When you've carried the weight of stress long enough, your body doesn't always know to uncoil when that weight slides away.
Part of it is because even good things come with new challenges. New jobs are wonderful, but there are new commutes to learn, new relationships to develop, new skills to hone. Another part is more like muscle memory, when stress has become the new default. Like when you wake up, but before you remember something really good or really terrible that alters your entire perception of the day.
At my core is a deep fear of insufficiency (Enneagram type five. Sigh.). I'm not enough, my resources are not enough, my time is not enough. If I just had a little more, if I knew a little more, if I prepared a little more, then I could face life and not be overwhelmed. And so I hoard and I save and I guard like a dragon with its gold.
What I learned during this season of testing is that I'm not sufficient. I'm not enough. I can't do enough or be enough or have enough or learn enough. I will always lack.
And that's okay.
Over the last months, I've run to the end of myself and the end of my possibilities. And then new possibilities, beyond what I'd imagined, sprang up.
But still I hold the stress. My body hasn't caught up to the message that it's okay to breathe again. I've been so consumed by how to scrape by. By how to make everything stretch and strain to meet all the needs and all the wants and not let anyone know how close I am to panic.
And then, release.
But not quite release. When you're used to fighting for footing on shifting sand, how do you adjust to suddenly finding yourself on firm rock? When you're constantly preparing for fight or flight, what do you do when the battle is over? When all the things you've been working for and praying for and hoping again hope for come through? When you stop madly swinging your stones and realize the giant already fell? All that adrenaline and cortisol still courses through your veins. Your nervous system is still on high alert. Because your brain and your body and reality aren't always in sync.
Yet little by little I'm learning to uncoil. To breathe and open myself up again. While stress grows without even trying, peace is a practice. It's a discipline. It's a choice. There will be seasons of trial again, but for now I'm choosing rest. I'm choosing to let this moment wash over me and speak healing. I'm choosing release.
What I'm listening to: Relent by Citizens
I just want to live in peace
And I'm struggling to believe
Letting go will give me peace
Can I sit here at your feet?
Cause this is right where I belong
Citizens is one of those bands I listen to for the lyrical content more than the music. I came across them after tracing a song I loved on an another album back to them and I've spent hours since soaking in their wisdom.
What I'm reading: Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people.
I've owned this for years, but admittedly never read it until after I watched the Amazon series. I'm finding both equally delightful. Irreverent perhaps, but satire usually is.
And He inclined to me and heard my cry.
He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay,
And He set my feet upon a rock making my footsteps firm.
Psalm 40:1-2
Stress has a funny way of working its way into your bones. Into the core of who you are. Of altering the way you carry yourself, the way you sleep at night, the way your face rests. When you've carried the weight of stress long enough, your body doesn't always know to uncoil when that weight slides away.
Part of it is because even good things come with new challenges. New jobs are wonderful, but there are new commutes to learn, new relationships to develop, new skills to hone. Another part is more like muscle memory, when stress has become the new default. Like when you wake up, but before you remember something really good or really terrible that alters your entire perception of the day.
At my core is a deep fear of insufficiency (Enneagram type five. Sigh.). I'm not enough, my resources are not enough, my time is not enough. If I just had a little more, if I knew a little more, if I prepared a little more, then I could face life and not be overwhelmed. And so I hoard and I save and I guard like a dragon with its gold.
What I learned during this season of testing is that I'm not sufficient. I'm not enough. I can't do enough or be enough or have enough or learn enough. I will always lack.
And that's okay.
Over the last months, I've run to the end of myself and the end of my possibilities. And then new possibilities, beyond what I'd imagined, sprang up.
But still I hold the stress. My body hasn't caught up to the message that it's okay to breathe again. I've been so consumed by how to scrape by. By how to make everything stretch and strain to meet all the needs and all the wants and not let anyone know how close I am to panic.
And then, release.
But not quite release. When you're used to fighting for footing on shifting sand, how do you adjust to suddenly finding yourself on firm rock? When you're constantly preparing for fight or flight, what do you do when the battle is over? When all the things you've been working for and praying for and hoping again hope for come through? When you stop madly swinging your stones and realize the giant already fell? All that adrenaline and cortisol still courses through your veins. Your nervous system is still on high alert. Because your brain and your body and reality aren't always in sync.
Yet little by little I'm learning to uncoil. To breathe and open myself up again. While stress grows without even trying, peace is a practice. It's a discipline. It's a choice. There will be seasons of trial again, but for now I'm choosing rest. I'm choosing to let this moment wash over me and speak healing. I'm choosing release.
I just want to live in peace
And I'm struggling to believe
Letting go will give me peace
Can I sit here at your feet?
Cause this is right where I belong
Citizens is one of those bands I listen to for the lyrical content more than the music. I came across them after tracing a song I loved on an another album back to them and I've spent hours since soaking in their wisdom.
What I'm reading: Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people.
I've owned this for years, but admittedly never read it until after I watched the Amazon series. I'm finding both equally delightful. Irreverent perhaps, but satire usually is.
What I'm watching: Ralph Breaks the Internet
Of all the thingamabobs in this entire world, I never thought I'd get to wear a real... what's it called again? Oh, yeah. A shirt.
We missed this one in theaters. The princess scenes were even better than I'd hoped. I love when anyone is secure enough to poke fun at themselves.
Of all the thingamabobs in this entire world, I never thought I'd get to wear a real... what's it called again? Oh, yeah. A shirt.
We missed this one in theaters. The princess scenes were even better than I'd hoped. I love when anyone is secure enough to poke fun at themselves.
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