In the Weeds: Reflections on Process
I like things polished. Put together. Final. Crossed off the to-do list. I don't like things messy. In progress. Incomplete. Imperfect.
I am on a journey of embracing the process. More and more, I am seeing areas where I hold back because of an "all or nothing" mentality. If my social media can't be a complete and accurate representation of who I am, why post at all? If I can't be the best at something, why try at all? If I can't articulate all of my thoughts perfectly, why write at all?
Fear holds me back. I'm afraid of being misunderstood. Afraid of being seen, and yet afraid of being unseen. Afraid of saying too much or too little. Eventually, I make so many excuses and predictions about what other people will think and what might go wrong, that I shut my heart off completely. I keep my head down, avoid eye contact, and fight my way through the weeds of life.
The truth is, I am a mess. I am imperfect, and I am in progress. I can't perfectly represent myself on social media because there's nothing perfect or complete to represent. We are complex and intricately designed beings. To be human is to be broken and beautiful all at once. To portray myself otherwise is always a lie.
So how can I be authentically myself? I first have to be honest with myself. To slow down and sit in the mess of my own imperfection.
I've often wondered how the past year can simultaneously be the hardest and the best of my life. I realized I've been forced to stop running the race towards achievement I've always been on, and press into the work of healing.
My whole life has been a sprint: running around the backyard as a kid, running to violin lessons and sports practices, running to summer jobs and new leadership roles, running to achieve, running to be the best, running to be noticed, running to prove myself.
In my running, I have grown weary. I have not tended to the weeds that have grown all around me--weeds that are so overbearing and thorny that I can no longer remove them myself. I didn't realize how much effort it took to keep running until I was forced to stop and catch my breath.
When I was first forced to slow down, I was resentful. Physically running and maintaining a busy schedule is my default. I didn't know that meant I was emotionally and spiritually running as well. Running from stillness because I was uncomfortable in slower rhythms. Unwilling to stop and address how unkept my path had become. How buried my heart was, and still is.
I've been buried under the pressure to keep running. Under fear of how hard it will be to stop and start clearing some of the weeds. Under expectations that I heaped on myself. Trapped in fear of letting myself feel anything except forward momentum in my achievements.
Three times now in the last year, I have been gearing up for something big; expectant and hopeful for the work that is coming. And each time, I've been forced to quarantine. Looking back, it was (and currently is) a gift to be trapped in a house with my restless and stubborn heart. It makes me rest so I can work from a place of overflow that only happens after being poured into. It began the process of being honest with how I ran myself dry. How I bottled up pain and hardened my heart to emotion. How I've rejected invitations to freedom and healthy living.
I've been reading Sara Hagerty's book "Every Bitter Thing is Sweet" and it is piercing my soul. Sara suggests that there is a correlation between letting go and blossoming; between the "not yet" and sudden change. It gave words to my experience of the past several months. As I let go of my expectations and say no to forging my own path through the weeds, I see a clearing. A few weeds are pulled back, and the path re-emerges. I take a tentative step forward, and this time say "yes" to the Lord's prompting; "yes" to His will for me. It's not what I would choose for myself, but it's surprisingly easier. The ice around my heart starts melting and I grow softer. I try again: "yes." I pause to notice the progress. The weeds are receding, slowly but surely. More sunlight breaks into to my heart, and I am filled with praise. I start noticing the birds chirping, and I begin to sing with them. I notice the buds on the trees that I previously rushed past. I feel alive. I am blooming. In these dreary winter months, I am truly living, perhaps freely for the first time.
I am still in the weeds, but there are less of them. I may never love stillness, and many days I'd rather keep running. Some weeds have already started to grow back, and I have stubborn, deep-rooted issues that I need to work through with the Lord. It will never be easy to sit with emotion, often lingering from moments of hurt that I thought I'd escaped long ago. But, embracing a full range of emotion opens me up to fullness of joy and radical, expectant hope. It creates space to breathe. The weeds are still there, but they are much easer to pull up when there is room along the path to see them. As the Lord gently reminds me, "Your heart doesn't need to be perfectly clean, it just needs to be open."
I won't stay in this slow season forever, but while I am here, I am changing. Paralyzing overthinking doesn't keep me trapped as long. Fear doesn't control me as often. I am embracing both the beauty and brokenness of my humanity; learning to walk with my head held high. In letting go of myself, I find a foothold in the Solid Rock, Jesus Christ.
My path is still largely unclear, which forces me to walk instead of run. I am waiting on several paths blocked with a "not yet" to be cleared. But with each "not yet" is an invitation to deeper healing now. To progress. To process. And I say "yes."