It's not the end

Hello!

I've been gone for a while. I could write an excuse and say its because I got married in February (yay!), but while that has been time consuming, it really isn't the reason why I haven't written for a while. I didn't actually know the reason why I hadn't written this year until recently. It just felt like I couldn't write, or shouldn't write, not because anyone discouraged me, in fact I received so much encouragement to write, but despite it, I just didn't.

And that's why I'm writing today. Not to rebel against my unambitious-putting-things-off self of 2022, but rather to share with you, after a difficult season and some revelations, what was holding me back, how the Lord has been helping me, and how long it seems to be taking! But as my Ganna says, patience is never learned quickly. Ugh!

There are two things that, from what I can see now, have held me back from writing (to apply this to yourself, think of that thing that writing is for me: something you enjoy, and something that you and others believe you are good at). For the first obstacle, I got both feet properly wet and adjusted nicely to the water. For the second, I had to get in a little deeper - you know that point where the water starts to touch your belly button area and you can't get any higher on your tippy toes? Well, let's just say there has been and will continue to be much squinting of the eyes and flailing of the hands during this journey.

The first: the shallow. Writing began for me in my journals. I've had a number over the years, my favourite one still with pages empty, as it is my 'special one' (I mean am I five or almost twenty five?). In this journal, with intricate patterns of gold engraved on the deep red cover and spine, there is one page that has only the word 'Hope' written on it in big letters, going across the whole page. That is the single and only entry in any journal for the year 2016. That year followed the best year of my life, and it was anti-climactic, traumatic, and depressing. I don't like labelling years, because of course the whole year wasn't entirely miserable, but it was the year in which the rosy tint of childhood had lost some of its colour, and I struggled.

I only wrote one page that year because I was shocked at my own thoughts and feelings, and felt I couldn't, or rather didn't want to record them. I was struggling with a lot of negativity, toxic thoughts about myself, and hopelessness, and I had almost no energy to write about it. Over the next couple of years the Lord redeemed me and also I wasn't a teenager anymore praise the Lord, and so my writing picked up again and also improved much. Until this year.

In about October this year during a therapy session I realised that I just didn't like to write anything negative. I believed it was shameful, wrong and bad. But Friend, and Dear Self, sometimes, like the gunk in a tap that's been clogged up for a while, the bad stuff needs to drain completely before the cool, clear, life giving stuff can come out. My therapist kindly exposed the lies, and I began to journal again. The stuff that came out wasn't pretty, but the process was so healing. And thus, the trickle started, and I once more remembered my love for writing.

"like the gunk in a tap that's been clogged up for a while, the bad stuff needs to drain completely before the cool, clear, life giving stuff can come out."

The second: the deep. Somewhere along the way I had forgotten who I was. Perhaps it was because of my recently being married or something else, but my sense of identity and of self-worth were caput like a deflated pool toy. It's hard to explain, but maybe you can relate to some of these 'symptoms' of the 'I've-forgotten-who-I-am' condition: I blamed myself for bad things that happened, even when I couldn't control it. I denied my feelings and punitively (and quite literally) shut myself up in order to prevent further pain. I desperately wanted to receive love and acceptance but felt like I hadn't worked hard enough for it. I told myself I needed to prove myself before I was welcome. I couldn't believe that it was possible for people to enjoy me for who I really was.

This condition came across as perfectionism, anxiety, depression, and self-imposed loneliness, when really it was a loss of a sense of identity. I forgot who I was, and I forgot who God was. What has this got to do with writing? Well, that's the thing Friend, I discovered my sense of identity has to do with everything. Everything I do, if I am to do it for the glory of God, flows from a deep knowledge of who I am. Why? Let me tell you who I am first, and perhaps you'll see why:

Charlotte: Child of God. Child. Daughter of God. Chosen. Chosen for my family, chosen for my marriage, chosen for my church, chosen for my city, chosen for this moment in time.

Status: Safe. Free.

"everything I do, if I am to do it for the glory of God, flows from a deep knowledge of who I am."

God has been taking me on a journey that is teaching me how to walk through life with His strength and joy, and I will hopefully share more about this journey in another post. But finally, after many prayers prayed in deep anguish, I am at the point in my journey when I, through God's grace and His ever-present self, feel safe enough and free enough to take the risk and 'let my light shine', in childlike faith, under the loving gaze of my Father who sees and delights in me.

And so, be encouraged dear Friend, that because of our Lord, the ending is always good, and if it is not good, it is not the end. I weep with you as you struggle through the hardships of life, as I have wept when it felt like there was no way out, but always God is near, and always he is working, and always He is fighting for us, and never are we alone. I promise you, as you sit reading this in a bath that's gone cold and now salty from your tears, and you feel like there's no way forward from here, Jesus knows the way, and He will guide you, and He will not fail you. Read your bible, even when it feels like the Word has lost its meaning, it hasn't, and it will not fail you. I promise. If it is not good, it is not the end.

" finally... [I] feel safe enough and free enough to take the risk and 'let my light shine', in childlike faith, under the loving gaze of my Father who sees and delights in me."

It is, however, now the end of this post. Until next time dear Friend!