Tag Archives: hope

capture and release

July 27

Today I woke up with an ache in my chest. I have been wandering around in a daze for so long that I’m not even sure how to label this feeling: This yearning, hopeful heartache that makes me excited, terrified, sad and angry all at once.

What do I do with it? I write. I bleed the feelings out through ink on paper. I capture and release them, instead of fighting to control them.

I struggle to find the balance between controlling things and just not caring about them. I want all or nothing. Perfection or disaster. I want my life to be the way it “should” be. If it can’t be that way, I just want to buy a bottle of tequila for dinner… I want a man in my bed… I want the power and the pride that comes from eating less and less. I want to throw it all away. I want oblivion.

But as great as it all sounds in the moment, I know how it ends. I’ve stumbled down that path many times. And it always leaves me with is the same dull heartache… with pain… with tears… with longing for more.

And I’m reminded God is the one real source of hope and joy and peace:

I pray that God, the source of hope, will fill you completely with joy and peace because you trust in him. Then you will overflow with confident hope through the power of the Holy Spirit.

Romans 15:13


No one asks for it

I’m wearing purple today in solidarity with survivors of sexual violence. Many survivors never receive justice, often because they somehow didn’t behave like a victim “should”…including me. Because rape culture.

It has taken years for me to truly believe that I am not what happened to me. That it wasn’t my fault. 

Five years to stop constantly questioning whether making just one decision differently would have meant avoiding this long, painfully never-ending season.

Half a decade of aching to understand the meaning behind it all. To see a purpose in the pain. And to finally, fully come to peace with not knowing. 

It’s so easy for us to define ourselves and one other by the past instead of the present. But my past no longer defines me. I’m letting it go.