When Words Fail

It’s felt as though I’ve had no words, for a number of months now.

Like my brain can’t process much beyond wake up, do what needs to be done, get through and go to bed. Moments and habits that usually spark life – reading, writing, creating, making meals, being with others – have felt like tasks too nebulous and overwhelming to even think about, much less act on. It’s felt as though the me-est part of me, this person and personality I’ve come to know who thinks deeply and engages with life and others, has taken a leave of absence without giving any sort of advance notice.

It's felt lonely, sad, and heavy.

And it’s been 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. Because how could this even compare to what some have gone or are going through? 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. I’ve slowed down and sped up and avoided thinking and sharing and being, replacing quiet time with noise and stillness with mindlessness. 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 good.

I still don’t feel like I know how to do both, really. How to acknowledge the struggle and make space for the blessing. How to process and open up. Is sharing the right thing? What if I say something in the wrong way? What if I’m complaining or making a big deal out of something I shouldn’t? What if sharing my pain diminishes someone else’s?

What if?

But what if I’m not alone? What if, while yes, there are hard and true stories that are different from my own, there are some that are similar? What if vulnerability in my current space makes someone else feel less alone?

I don’t know if it will. But I hope so. After all, that’s the intention behind everything I write – to enlighten and enliven people’s spirits to the fact that they are not alone; to hopefully make even just one person feel more seen in this chaotic and wild world.

So here I am, showing up as I am. Still sad. Still heavy. But choosing to come home to this version of myself who feels a bit foreign and a lot tender; choosing to love her and make space for her heaviness; choosing to create space to feel and be, even if I’m not feeling or presenting how I think I “should” in this season.

When words fail, when our minds run ahead or slog behind, may we find our homecoming; this coming back to ourselves in any and every season, making space for who and how we are today. May we embrace the core of who we are now – perhaps joyful, or sad; heavy, or glad. May our beings, these homes familiar and foreign, become the resting place of our love and tender care. May we awaken our minds and souls to the truth that we are free to feel and be, today.