It's one of those days. The ones where all feels ick. My husband snuggles me on the couch and looks into my eyes with his blue ones, searching and kind, and I'm overwhelmingly grateful and completely numb, both at once.
These days seem to come out of nowhere ... and yet part of me feels like they're the price I pay for having hope. Like the universe is shaking it's head and muttering a "foolish girl."
Because, I felt pretty great last week. It felt really nice. I had a meeting on Wednesday that gave me energy and encouragement and a bit of hope I hadn't felt in a LONG time.
Thursday was good.
Friday was another meeting that at least felt like something progressive and hopeful.
And the weekend was fun — from puppy shopping to waverunner riding with friends, it was a steady stream of happy that worked to keep hope alive.
But then Monday. And the ick factor.
I catch myself in automatic negative and self-deprecating thoughts. The old feelings of inadequacy and insecurity return. The sense of financial and professional stuckness and a related despondency set in deep. Opportunities feel like burdens and yet, when I refuse to shoulder those "burdens", a weight of shame descends.
Changing your inner narrative is hard. It's a battle. It's taking every thought captive and holding it up to the Truth and deciding to believe differently about myself and life and God. It's a little bit exhausting, this inner work, but it's my work today ... and every day ... because Hope is worth the struggle.
I think. I hope?!