This is what it is like in my head:

I’ll have a great stretch of days, sometimes weeks, where I am enjoying the thoughts and hopes of the future. Life has a good outlook, positive even.

And then the strain starts to creep in.

A tugging, pulling, nagging, scraping.

Irritating at first, like fine grit sandpaper gently grazing on your skin.

Soon the grit becomes more and more coarse, with the intensity of a belt sander.

Then the belt sander is using a grit made from broken glass. The shards cutting deep, scraping over my soul; my thoughts, emotions.

I begin to doubt everything good in my life.

Nothing lasts forever, so don’t expect it to.

The dark clouds begin to roll in as I try to fight it taking over and instead just allow whatever this is to pass without taking too much skin.

Sometimes it passes and my hope and joy returns.

Sometimes it gets worse.

Until it doesn’t.

Whenever that is.

I’m not sure which it is this time.

But, I’m breathing.

I’m questioning who is holding the belt sander and why.

I’m trying to let this part have it’s voice instead of ignoring or stifling or shutting it out.

I see you, I hear you. It’s going to be okay.

It’s hard work, this.



Bringing all the shards back into place.

The whole Self united again.

An entirely different and authentically beautiful Self.

Having endured the brokenness and repair.

That is my hope.