Not knowing the future is hard.
There is safety in being able to plan. In being able to predict.
My early childhood was a series of unpredictable events. Scary things that happened. Fear and anxiety from not knowing what would happen next…and what that would mean for me, a terrified little girl, trying to cope with the constant upheaval.
That fear–that anxiety–became my normal. I learned to order my world, to try to predict as much as I could, and to control every aspect that I could. It is the root of my perfectionism.
It comes as no surprise to me, then, that I am a very impatient person. I want to know when and why and how things are going to happen. This is how I have always controlled the scary things in life. This is how I found peace in the disaster.
The thing is–this need to know–this constant battle of always ordering my world and conquering it all–it is scary and stressful in and of itself.
Why? Because, when I predict wrong, it feels devastating. My vision, the world as I had planned it in my head, is suddenly upended, and I am left trying to find my footing in a world that suddenly looks unrecognizable.
Throughout the last year, my life has looked so far from any way that I imagined it. It has been bad–and it has also been really good. I am feeling stronger, more whole, and more forgiving to myself (at least, more than I ever was before). That is a big deal to me.
What is surprising about this? I never predicted any of it. There have been so many times in the last year where I have felt immensely frustrated–When will this “journey” end? When will I be myself again? Why am I such a mess?!
My need to control has made my anxiety worse. Panic is hard to control…the realization that it is overtaking me is often accompanied by my strong desire to make it go away, and my frustration in being unable to control it. The fear of this cycle only fuels it even more. My desire to be perfect, to not be fighting this embarrassing battle, has made it worse.
There finally came a time, a moment, when I was able to take back some of my own power. A realization that, despite all of my own issues, the things that happened to me as a young child were not my fault.
I–finally–began to trust the journey. It was painful. It required giving up control–it required not knowing or trying to define what life should look like.
I still struggle. I fail. I am not perfect.
And that is okay.
Without being able to explain it–or even needing to name it–I am finding the strength to just trust the journey. I am loved. I am cared for. I am a good person.
I am okay.
Whatever happens, wherever I end up, I now know that I will be okay.
In fact, I will be better than okay. I will be ME. I will be whole. I will love and be loved.
Because, I am worth that–something that has taken me so long to realize. 💜