I recently had a conversation with a friend –  a young, single mom that often writes thought provoking, beautiful and “real” posts on Facebook.  I developed a deep respect for her years ago when she bravely wrote about bettering herself and rising above her circumstances as a single mom of two.  I knew then that we had a connection. She was me. I was her. 

Her latest entry is an amazing few paragraphs about Father’s Day and I sent her a text stating how she should start a blog.

This sweet mama has also been a supporter of all my antics – my actual blog, my random crazy thoughts, and “deep thoughts with Melissa.” She gets me and she reminded me of this – telling me how she “always wants to hear more of what Melissa has to say.”

Bless her heart. 

But. I started thinking. 

I explained briefly why I haven’t written in a long time.  As a true “external processor,” the reasons came out.

This one is for you, girl.

The last year has been one of the most debilitating years of my life. It wasn’t one thing, or another thing. It was many years of dysfunction and pressing down of issues that erupted. It was a popcorn maker, over filled with kernels, pop, POP, popping until the lid explodes open, gushing the contents onto the countertop, then the floor – waves of bursted little nuggets of corn, overflowing with a vengeance into a messy, chaotic pile. 

I never thought I would be okay again. Truly. I was in the most excruciating state of chronic anxiety and depression. I stopped caring about myself or anyone else. I stopped loving music, art, creativity, life.  Pretending I was okay was a game that I thought I had mastered. The things I did to mask pain broke my own heart. 

When I would think about the blogs I had written, I was terrified of the vulnerability I had shown. I considered deleting all of them and trying to pretend they never existed.  There were people that reached out to me that were inspired by them. There were people that used my own words to manage me.  I was paralyzed by both of those things.

In January of this year, many things changed. A rough case of Covid slowed me down and the exhaustion lasted months. During this time, where I had really come to the end of myself, I remembered that in a few passing conversations over the last year, God had used some friends to plant a teeny tiny mustard seed to tell me about a group called Freedom. 

I signed up and it began in February. I can still remember walking in, wearing a three piece suit of shame, guilt, and brokenness. Chaos swirled around me like one of those little gnat nests you walk through in the summer, that you can’t escape from.  I couldn’t even express the mess that was my life.  I could hardly breathe. Most weeks, I would step through the door and feel as if I had walked off of a battlefield. Tears would rise before the group ever began.

Somehow, despite everything, I committed to never missing a session and attending the final conference. I succeeded.  Thirteen weeks plus an intense conference dealing with so many things.

By the end of April and the final conference, the “things” began making some sense. Healing began happening. Small glimmers of peace peeked through the chaos. Some wounds didn’t feel like deep, painful, bleeding cuts, but more like scars.  Forgiveness began happening.  What seemed like things I would never understand and would never stop hurting, turned into the very things that God used to get me to where I was.  Suddenly, divinely, I was no longer in the valley.  I was baby-stepping up the other side, sometimes even seeing the mountaintop.  I spoke to a friend this morning and we both agree on one thing. To our human brains, where I am now really makes no sense compared to where I was. 

Pausing here to say this. If you’ve got questions about what Freedom is, contact me. I’ll always share the goodness that is this course.

In our conversation, my single mama friend mentioned how her life was so much better now,  lived in peace.  As soon as I read these words I had a realization that I shared with her. 

Chaos, lived out for so many years, is what’s often more comfortable for me. Anxiety hits hard some days and fuels the flames of chaos like the wind feeding a pasture fire in a dry Texas summer. Sometimes, choosing peace is the harder, more unnatural thing for me. Occasionally, I choose chaos. The shift is that more often, I’m picking peace and I’m going to continue to fight for it.

I could wish a million wishes that the things that led me to this place would have never happened, but I don’t. I really don’t. God used all of those things to propel me here. This area of choosing peace over chaos. This place of healing. This place of waiting. This place of being willing to be used by Him. This place of surrender. This place filled to the brim with the most incredible people to walk this journey with.  This place of being real and vulnerable, as scary as it is.  This place where the popcorn kernels are at a good, safe level and if a few nuggets get burned or overflow, they are quickly scooped into the trash.  There’s a balance here, and it mostly feels amazing. Not perfect, but amazing.