And in this deep, very reasonable exhaustion, I’m finding my self, the me I recognize, to be blurry. Out of focus. Out of reach. Where I used to describe myself as gentle, I feel harsh. Where I used to feel engaged, I find disconnection. Where I used to feel settled, I feel untethered, like a balloon floating without much direction.

And as I reflect on that fact, as I think about starting the year feeling kind of unprepared or even behind, that question keeps coming to mind — What if we didn’t rush?

What if I took the time I need? What if January 1st didn’t have to be a deadline to meet? What if being human and growth doesn’t have a due date?

The holiday season is filled with cheer, yes, but also this simmering pressure for a perfect performance. We’re inundated with a host of seasonal to-dos. Family dynamics create tricky situations and expectations. Budgets bump up against the gift list.

As I sit here and write, baby in arms, I can’t help but grieve and worry. I mourn my lack of sleep, drive, and creativity. I wonder how to define my sense of personal identity, including and without that of being a mom. I question the value of how I spend my time these days as I rinse and repeat nap time, walks, play time… without knowing how to change anything to feel more in tune with myself.

But mostly I wonder who I am now that I’m a mom.

I worry I’m being overly dramatic with my tears. It’s just a scar. It was necessary. At least it wasn’t bigger. Thank god I had such a capable and wonderful doctor.

And also.

It’s my face. My scars take a long time to heal. It’s a 2-3 inch scar down the center of it. It’s a conversation that I’ll be having with every single person I see, whether it’s out loud or sitting in their questioning eyes.

And it’s felt particularly confusing and hard to navigate because it’s all happening in tandem with a season that I am so privileged and thankful to be in – pregnancy.

My awareness of the pain and struggle that so many people face in their pregnancy journeys has made it hard not to feel shame about my own experience, my own version of struggle.

So, I’ve been quiet. Not just online, which is a space that honestly doesn’t matter as much to me since the online world is a place I can pick and choose what to share when I’m ready. But more so personally. Internally. It’s like I’ve held myself and at arm’s distance from myself, not ready or able to hold the hard parts that have come along with the goodness that is growing inside of me.

Because what can be a beautiful time of reflection and gentle newness has too often been taken hostage by consumerism and lies telling us to buy more, do more, so that we can feel that we are in fact more than the pain and hurt and imperfections we carry. But these lies are just that – untruths, deceptions, false realities that taunt us, telling us we should be able to achieve this intangible state of being “more.”

The truth is, life is hard. The truth is, none of us are all one thing or the other. The truth is, you are not a project to fix and finish this new year.

To me, intentional reflection is a time during which you set aside distractions, making purposeful space to think, process, and wonder. Because it’s such a personal process, I don’t think there’s a one size fits all approach to this kind of reflection. That being said, these are a few suggestions and ideas that you might use as you reflect on your own year, should you be in need of or searching for some inspiration.

That’s what fear does – it strangles us, wrapping its way around our throats, closing in and squeezing till it controls where we look, how we move. Fear is an unforgiving taskmaster whose aim is to keep us isolated. Because even if we’re alone, at least we can’t get hurt again, right?

But what I’ve learned through my own journey of healing, processing, and sharing is that true safety doesn’t require withholding and withdrawing parts of myself. I’ve come to understand that it’s okay to tell my brain, “Thank you for keeping me safe in the ways you have this far, but I’m going to explore a different path now.” And I believe that safe vulnerability is a different path worth taking.

But the noise around us fuels this lie we believe: that we need to and can make up for our imperfections. That we must push aside our weariness for the sake of our worthiness. After all, how could this flawed, limited self be enough without the actions and accolades to make up for the messiness of being me?

But, friend, what if there was another way? What if this uncomfortable, unproductive, uncompromising quiet is how we begin to see and experience truth?

No matter where you are at and what your background is, I know this to be true for all of us – we crave real people. We desire truth.

And this is mine.

Truthfully, I’m scared of releasing this post. I’m scared that some people will think of me differently. I’m scared that others will feel like they need to pray for me. I’m scared of being judged for being honest and real and unsure.

So, moving forward, while I can’t tell you exactly what this space will look like, I can promise you this – you belong here. Whatever race, religion, sexuality, gender identity: you are welcome and belong here, wholly and completely. And I am also certain that this is a space where I hope to continue cultivating open, honest, and inclusive dialogue.

What if life truly is more about the journey than the destination, like the cheesy adage goes? After all, the life we live is a great in between, not complete until we reach its end. Perhaps instead of seeking out finality in answers, we can give ourselves permission to live a contemplative life marked by consideration – of different beliefs; of changing priorities; of the dynamic human experience that refuses to be stagnant and continuously forces us to ask and re-ask questions.

I believe that we are designed to be embodied people – connected to our bodies, aware of what they are experiencing, mindful of what they need.

I don’t believe that culture as a whole supports that inherent design, however. Instead of teaching us to respect and listen to our bodies, social media and consumer culture train us to distrust ourselves. We receive messages like, “Your body looks like that? You’d better change something.” Or, “You feel sad? Hide those feelings away so your life can look perfect.” Because it’s hard to sell to people who are content with themselves. And so, we inherit and inhabit lies that take us out of our bodies.

Friend, what disembodied lies are you believing today?

I believe that we ask these questions, that we engage with our doubt, because we see something in Jesus that is radical enough, true enough, real enough to keep wondering about.

I used to believe that wandering and wondering were signs of faltering faith, but now I think that they are what our truest faith is made of.
 
My invitation for you today is to make space for the questions you feel coming up. Be honest with yourself and perhaps with others you feel safe to talk to. Choose to honour your feelings and doubts by letting them be real.

When our childhood is filled with these lived experiences that correlate success (i.e. doing well at something by my or others’ standards) with love and belonging, of course we develop a fear of failure! Of course we avoid unknowns and feeling unsure.

But I want to change that. I want to redefine failure for myself. I want to be able to put myself in situations where I have to ask questions and get curious.

I want to tell you – you are allowed to say no.

And you are allowed to let “no” be a full sentence.

Let that sink in. That one small, two-letter word, “no” can be a full sentence. That’s hard to believe, though. I often feel like if I’m saying no to something, I’d better have a good reason ready to share. Because if I feel like I can’t justify my “no,” saying no must not be the right thing to do. So, I should say yes because that’s just what I should do because that’s what someone else would think I should do too.

What if we didn’t have to feed into this all-or-nothing narrative? What if there was another, more balanced approach? I give you, The Sometimes Method.

In The Sometimes Method, sometimes you follow through and sometimes you don’t. But in it all, you are making micro-movements towards the kind of person you want to become. No perfection required. Missed days welcome. The only requirement is that you focus on who you want to be rather than what you want to do.

But, here you are. Here we are. Messy and up to our elbows with the dirt we’re digging through to find some freedom.

Friend, if that’s how you feel, welcome here. You are normal. Your feelings are valid. And these weeds are simply the worst.

But, as awful as they are, they aren’t the end of the story.

No, your story is one where pain meets patience. Where hurt finds healing. Where trauma leads to transformation. Your story is one of process.

But perhaps this online world requires the kind of balance a university teacher once described during a class. She explained that balance can be like sitting on an exercise ball. It’s not a state to be achieved but rather an action to take. Staying balanced requires movement and micro adjustments keep you where you want to be.