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Ordering My Steps

Technically, I hadn’t left my bed for days. For four days, the occasional bathroom visit was the most active I got, and I barely did that. I ate sporadically, fell in and out of sleep, talked to God & tripped into a few holes on insta. It’s the same old story. A multi-day migraine, fuzzy-headedness, and ear-ringing triggered another depressive episode. But what’s pulling me out of it is something new.

Five hours after NPR posted SWV’s tiny desk concert to YouTube, I am randomly scrolling on YT, having forgotten why I came here in the first place (insert brain injury eye roll here). But once I see it, I immediately click the thumbnail. It doesn’t get saved to my watch later like usual, never to be seen again.

There’s an unexpected thing happening here. Something like joy is beginning to bubble up from somewhere deep within me. I watch Coko, Taj, Leelee, and Co. do their thing. I sing along, raise my hand, and bop around from my bed, in the dent I’ve made there over the last four days. But there’s a new energy rushing in.

As they sing their classic jams from my high-school days, without even trying, they begin to lift me from my lonely, sunken place. I start making plans for the future, making a mental note to check out tickets for their tour once they drop. Without any real effort on my part, I’m coming out of another depressive episode. And I’m grateful.

How did I get here? I might have an idea. Was it SWV? Was it the nostalgia of my high school days? Is this the formula for busting through depression? I doubt it. As much as I love SWV and the renewed interest in artists from my era, I don’t see this combination working every time depression rears its raggedy head.

What’s more likely is that the Holy Spirit – the Spirit of my Savior who lives within me – guided me to what would help in this specific moment. Just like those times when the Holy Spirit, knowing what I don’t and can’t possibly know, led me to the things, people and places, big and small, that would work out for me.

Just like with the jobs (plural) I got that I almost didn’t apply to or the dope outfits I found at deep discounts, despite dragging myself to the mall, outlet, or other place. Or better yet, the move I made to be closer to family, never suspecting the health issues that would arise and turn my life upside down.

There have been so many times when I ended up in the right place at the right time and knew that I couldn’t take the credit. Why would this be any different?

Depression is BIG trash. Period. End of story. No one would ever choose this. But I am so grateful that I have the Holy Spirit with me, in me, ordering my steps – leading me to what I need, before I even know I need it. That’s the real formula. đź’ś

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Just Be

What would it be like to “just be”?

As in, live “as is”, no changes, as today’s version – the exact same you that exists this second. What would it be like to be completely yourself without striving and straining toward some goal, some other version of you? Imagine it for just a moment. What’s there? What isn’t?

Is it enjoying a social situation freely without the pressure to make a friend, make a deal, be seen, or even unseen?

Is it exhaling and releasing your belly or the folds of your back to unravel, without a care, across the area below?

Is it placing a block on the past – a transparent wall that separates you from a joy, mistake, or trauma where your brain thinks you should live instead?

What would it be like to just be and embrace what is, whatever it is, right now?

Radical (self) acceptance. Would it be so bad?

Imagine that. A moment where everything that’s happened, everything you’ve witnessed, and where you are now has been totally and completely accepted… by the most important person, you. No bones to eat clean. No details to pick apart. Just be-ing.

I’m realizing that there’s so much more to see when I am present here and ok with what is. When I’m not obsessing over what I could’ve said vs what I did say or whether that thing will work out the way I hope or worrying about what new thing aging has assigned to me, there’s calm, silence, rest, and sometimes, if I’m honest, sleep.

Lately, this is where Jesus has been leading me. To “just be” is a whole new world for me… one who is either waist-deep in the past, picking apart the present, or running light-years into the future. To “just be” is radical.

So far, I like that worry doesn’t seem to live here. But I can’t say for certain what does. I’ve only just started to look around.

What about you? What do you see?

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Suicide has nothing to do with strength

Dr. Antoinette “Bonnie” Candia-Bailey is no more. By all accounts, an excellent person and dedicated professional, she committed suicide following a series of demoralizing, bullying, and not so subtle attacks in her workplace at the hands of her boss. Attacks, punctuated by the absence of protection and support from her employer, that left her deeply depressed, anxious, and ultimately, officially terminated from her job.

It might blow you away that a person could end their life over anything regarding work. It might come across as weak or even unbelievable, but suicide has nothing to do with strength.

Dr. Antoinette “Bonnie” Candia-Bailey

Suicide isn’t about fortitude but instead despair and hopelessness in aggregate form. It’s feeling irreparably broken and alone and seeing no other way out. It’s being exhausted by the lack of safe places to rest and just be. It’s being desperate for an immediate end to a long and excruciating period of suffering.

In her thoughtful and deeply personal devotional, Not Alone: Reflections on Faith and Depression, Rev. Dr. Monica A. Coleman describes some of the hopeless thoughts that can cloud the minds of those of us with depressive conditions, thoughts like:

I’ll never feel better again,
I’m a burden to everyone around me, including those I love most,
I’m incapable of making a positive contribution to the world,
I’ve tried everything – every medication, therapist, insurance agency – and none of it has helped,
This pain is so intense that only death can alleviate it,
God must hate me to make me this sad, morose, numb and/or bad, and the usual thorn in my own side,
God must be disappointed in me for not having my act together

These are thoughts that I’ve often struggled with myself. For me, they fuel a panic that can grow into an urgent need for escape, by any means necessary. That urgent need for escape creates the focus necessary to make plans to die.

Planning is a telltale sign of a pending suicide attempt. Putting one’s affairs in order, whether it’s finding new homes for once treasured items or being intentional about saying “goodbye” to loved ones, displays loud and clear a person’s seriousness about ending their life.

We know that Dr. Candia-Bailey planned. She sent an email to her attacker/boss prohibiting him from talking to her family once the deed was done. She was suffering in deep emotional pain, but she was serious and resolute about her next steps. That isn’t weakness.

We may never know Dr. Candia-Bailey’s thoughts as she committed this final act. I don’t know what she believed in or how she lived her life. I can only wonder if she was looking forward to rest, peace in some place far from here, a place like heaven.

I’m not one of those people who get into debates about what is and isn’t a sin, or whether some are worse than others or who will or won’t make it into heaven. In general, I think those debates are a distraction from what really matters, which is relationship – the main thing Jesus died for us to have.

Any idea that God is angry with us, judges, or abandons us in these desperate moments just doesn’t match the Jesus I know. When it comes to something as world-changing as suicide, what I have experienced with Jesus when my thoughts have slid down this path wasn’t any of those things. It’s always been compassion.

Not surprise. Not disapproval. Not judgment. Just compassion and a gentle re-orientation away from my suffering, a feat that seemed impossible only a moment before, and a sense that there is more for me that lies beyond this pain, beyond this intense suffering. A sense that joy and purpose will return… eventually.

The compassion that I have found in my most bleak moments conveys a sense that God is pained by my suffering too. Monica put it this way,

“I believe that God is with us, feels with us, and is moved by our suffering – even when, especially when, we cannot feel God’s presence. I’m not sure the right word is “sin,” but perhaps all of this breaks God’s heart too.”

Dr. Candia-Bailey is gone. She won’t have the chance to witness what could have been beyond her torment, her excruciating pain. No-one will. It isn’t a crime, but it is a tragedy… for all of us. If nothing else, I hope she’s found peace and the rest she sought.

If you are struggling with thoughts of suicide, you don’t have to face them alone. Call or text 988 (or check out these resources) to get connected to confidential, non-judgmental support now. đź’ś

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Beautifully Human

Here at the start of the year, I found myself teetering on the edge of a (yet another) depressive episode. In the last few days of 2023, I found joy in a quiet Christmas, a beautifully reimagined The Color Purple, and a simple NYE. But as the new year began, heavy rain and the threat of snow did whatever it does to my brain that shuts life down.

It set off the migraines, drowsiness, and fatigue that keeps me stuck in a dark room, huddled under the covers, barely coming out to eat or even bathe – much like a depressive episode. And with the addition of some unwelcome medical news and the ending of some important relationships, my personal cache of hope began to slip through my fingers.

This odyssey with my health followed me into the new year, along with a very real and recent job loss. Last year, my deeply analytical brain couldn’t muster the cognitive strength to do my job. I couldn’t even fake it. As 2024 approached, I tried not to think too much about how I would manage, much less overcome all of this, until I was firmly in the new year.

At this point, I am convinced that God has gotten me every job that I’ve ever had. In each scenario, there were too few options and resources to see it any differently. And through prayer, I had been reassured that the God that did that for me so many times before would do it again when the time came. So, again, I tried not to dwell on it… until the new year.

But when 2024 came, I felt overwhelmed that I didn’t have a single idea of how I would navigate any of this. To be honest, I’m still crawling my way out of those feelings. And you know what else? It’s frustrating as hell.

It’s frustrating to believe in a very real and personal God, yet still struggle with doubt and fear that makes me want to control everything. I used to believe that all I needed was to be reassured that God had it, had me, and all my worries would melt away. But more and more, I’m seeing that faith doesn’t exactly work that way all the time, or at least not mine.

I’m seeing that faith still takes work, no matter what reassuring words the Holy Spirit whispers into my heart in the quiet hours of the night. I’m learning that I may still have to hold on to the word even when I can’t see it happening for me, even when there’s no evidence that it ever will.

Sometimes, building this muscle of faith sucks. But I’m also seeing that it’s okay to acknowledge that it does sometimes suck.

So often, I want to push myself to shake it off or beat myself up when I find myself dwelling on the hard and uncertain stuff. I get angry. I get sad. I become unforgiving of self. But emotions are just signals to be investigated, right? And, make no mistake, they are God-given.

If I’m made in the image of God, in mind, body and spirit, and the God of the Bible gets angry, is grieved, or has any other emotion, then so can I. I have yet to see Jesus, the Father, or Holy Spirit try to repress how they feel in the Bible.

There’s no mention of Jesus beating himself up for being frustrated with the disciples’ lack of faith or after running the money changers out of the temple. I’ve never heard of Daddy God pretending not to regret that he had made people during all the antics of Noah’s time on earth. Nor have I known the Holy Spirit to pretend not to be grieved when I’ve gone my own way or made a mess of a gift I’ve been given.

They feel their feelings… they just don’t stay there. And made in their image, I can allow myself to do the same.

I can love God and still be frustrated that building and exercising faith can be hard, frustrating, and not at all fun. It’s okay, I can feel those feelings even as I keep walking forward with God. After all, it’s how I’m made.

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Looking for hope?

There’s a song filling every corner of my brain lately. It’s soft and somber, yet Gravity swells with emotion.

It paints a picture of us individually, worried, and stressed out over the details of life. Whether frivolous or meaningful, beautiful, or devastatingly painful, together they create an enormous weight, distracting us from what really matters and wearing us out day to day.

But what really matters?

Hope.

Not in things or changing circumstances. But, hope in a promise. And a hope that promises are kept by those who make them. Really, one person in particular. But back to the song.

Seeing all of your stress and struggle, God says, “Come up here with me. I want to show you something.” And clasping your raised hand, pulls you upward, from the ground through the atmosphere and beyond space and time, to the peaceful spot at his side. Sitting high above it all with your creator, you see what God sees.

High above the joy and the pain, you see beauty and order and process. And you realize that there’s more to all of this than you can see from your small corner of your world.

There are whole galaxies and universes upon universes being formed from nothing, stretched, destroyed, and re-formed anew. There’s an unknowable number of creatures, big and small, traveling carefully plotted paths that still, somehow, include a million options for them each to consider.

Complicated, yet there is a distinct order to what looks like chaos from down below. And it’s managed by one person, the one holding your hand right now.

… Sovereign … you are …

This part of the song stays on replay in my quiet moments.

Sovereign is a word that I know but rarely use. So I had to hit the dictionary to refresh my memory on its meaning and, among its definitions, found that it means: to possess supreme or ultimate power.

As in, one who has ALL of the power.

As in, the buck stops here. ✋🏾

It’s something to remember when you turn your attention back to the details of life. It’s something God has demonstrated in all manner of ways: here on Earth, in the heavens, in the Bible, and likely, in your life too.

That power, that reason for hope, is in these simple promises, from the only one who can always keep them:

I got this. And I see you.
I got this. And I’m with you.
Believe. Don’t doubt me.

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Afraid? God isn’t.

A few years ago, while walking down a hallway at work, I felt a sharp, gouging pain in my body that made me cry out. Instead of copying the documents in my hand, I was paralyzed by pain and leaning on the nearest wall for support. Out. Of. Nowhere. It was the same sharp pain I felt while laying in bed a few nights before. Both times, it took my breath away.

That pain was my introduction to a mysterious mass that had formed undetected within my body. It led me on a journey to the offices of more specialists than I can remember, an endless stream of blood tests, exams and scans, a $200 ambulance ride from an imaging center to the hospital across the street (don’t ask), and finally, a successful surgery 6 months later.

By then, so many people had seen me at least partially-naked that I wondered whether I should have been getting paid. Thankfully, in the end, the mass was completely removed and non-cancerous. And though it wasn’t the only source of pain, removing it took care of most of it. Now, nearly 8 years later, I am relieved to say that it hasn’t returned.

I don’t think about that time in my life too often these days. But it was the first thought to cross my mind when a friend randomly texted me a song a few weeks ago. It was Ty Tribbett’s – If he did it before … Same God.

It’s a hella hype, upbeat gospel song from the early 2000’s whose point is clear and simple.  It’s this: if God took care of you before, well guess what? God will do it again. Why? Because he’s the same God today that he was back then.

I had heard it randomly a week or two before for what may have been the first time in years. As soon as I saw the link with the song title, the lyrics came to me in an instant and I had a burst of joy. It was an unexpected, but welcome infusion of hope into my day; a reminder that I desperately needed.

I got a concussion in a car accident a few years ago. I thought the symptoms were on their way out, albeit at a snails pace, but over the last year or so, they have come back with a vengeance. It’s had real impacts on my ability to work and just exist on a daily basis. And low key, it has been stressing a sistah out!

Debilitating migraines, cognitive fatigue and a host of other symptoms have been so much a part of my days that it’s  been hard not to wonder if this is what the rest of my life will look like. In the haze of a stabbing, eye-watering migraine, I’ve wondered, is this my new normal?

The idea alone is terrifying.

But that song reminded me of something that God had been showing me little by little in my quiet time with him: the wind and the waves. 

If you haven’t heard the story, Jesus had just finished feeding a huge crowd of people, well-over 5,000. He had taken a little boys lunch and multiplied it until it was enough to feed thousands, and leave a whole lot of leftovers. It was a huge miracle. His main crew, the disciples, had witnessed and been part of it all.


Immediately after this spectacle, they found themselves on a boat in the middle of a ferocious storm. With dark skies above them and heavy waves crashing against the boat, they were in a state of panic.  And Jesus wasn’t there. He had gone to a private spot by himself to pray. He had promised to join them later, and true to his word, he did.

In sheer terror, they looked out across the waves and saw him walking toward them. Not on the beach, but on the waves themselves!

They thought they were losing it… or that it was a ghost… or both. But Jesus assured them that it was him, and with all kinds of chill, proceeded to stop the storm and calm the waves – another miracle. Astounded by their little faith after seeing him feed all of those people only hours before, he asked them, “Why did you doubt me?”

There’s more to the story, but being reminded of this moment between the disciples and Jesus brought me back to my own struggle and the song.

I’d been through a scary health situation before, hadn’t I? This was a new scenario, but no less serious.  And really, the details are the only thing that’s different here. Jesus didn’t change. He’s just as capable, just as faithful, just as concerned and on top of things as he was back then. And even though I’m afraid, that doesn’t mean that he is.

Whether it’s on an operating table or in a storm-battered boat, he’s here and he’s got me. He’s faithful. I have my own experience to prove it, and the disciples’ too. If he did it before, then he’ll do it again. Because he doesn’t change.

I don’t know exactly how all of this will turn out. But I don’t have to follow my feelings or let fear beat me down. I have reason to hope. He’s the same God now as before. My problems haven’t stumped him before, and they won’t now. Neither will yours.

đź’ś

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Your Bright Future

Sometimes it’s hard to believe in the promises of God. That can be especially true for the ones that proclaim the good future that He has planned for you. Struggles like having a debilitating illness, navigating the ever-evolving face of trauma or even the nightly news can have any of us doubting that tomorrow could ever look any different than today. And it can get really real when you see the people around you getting what you desperately desire but are still waiting for.

I struggle with this a lot. Sometimes when I look at my present and at what’s behind me, all I see are the hard things and how so much of it looks the same, mainly the mistakes and the trials. They loom large in my vision and tend to block out my happier memories.

I have to remind myself daily of Jeremiah 29:11 – “For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”  And really, it’s the Holy Spirit doing the reminding, because there’s a negative thoughts playlist in heavy rotation in my mind that often tries to trip me up.

It’s the Holy Spirit who brings this verse to my mind and reminds me of the power of my words, which then leads me to speak it out of my mouth. It’s the Holy Spirit who leads me to write it and post it on my nightstand, so it’s one of the first things I see when I wake up and the last thing when I go to bed.

It’s the Holy Spirit who leads me to listen to the bible on my bible app. It’s the Holy Spirit who leads me to record bible verses in my own voice on my phone and then prompts me to play them on my commute or when I’m feeling anxious to help me renew my mind.  

I don’t always believe that I have a good future ahead of me and that’s the truth. Doubt sometimes eats me for breakfast. But it’s the Holy Spirit that reminds me that my negative thoughts are not all there is. There’s something else and it’s better. The Holy Spirit guides me back to hopefulness.

So, as much as I am writing this for you, know that I’m writing it for me too.

You have a bright future ahead of you. You might not always be able to see it, feel it or even believe that it’s possible. But there are more blessings than you can imagine up ahead. So, don’t worry. You don’t have to figure it all out. But you can ask for and receive help. So, ask. And the Holy Spirit will show up in the silence, in the simple things, and in the practical to guide you back to hope.  

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Just keep going part II

To just keep going is the hardest thing there is in a depressive episode, in part, because there’s no indication of when it will end. It can be hard to believe that it ever will. And if you’ve weathered multiple episodes, there’s the added knowledge that this current ordeal probably won’t be the last. It’s exhausting and well, … depressing.

With that said, persevering is usually the last thing on my mind. Instead, escape, by any means necessary, seems like the only path forward. For different people that escape might be at the bottom of a bottle, a gummy-induced high, long periods of sleep, workaholism, meddling in other people’s problems or a million other distractions. I can admit that I’ve tried a few. Really, the possibilities are endless, but they don’t really end it. And to be completely honest, I’m not sure what does.

After years of working on my mental health in therapy, learning healthy coping skills, consistently taking anti-depressants, anti-anxiety medication and every kind of vitamin, moving my body to boost the feel-good chemicals in my brain and building a relationship with God, I still find myself in depressive episodes. It makes me wonder if it’s just my cross to bear in this life.

Yet, even still, I know that it could be worse, namely, because it has been. There was a time in my life when the pain of depression wasn’t an episode, but an everyday, all the time, thing.

When I remember how little it would take to send me back to those days, literally just a week without my medication, I have reason to be grateful. I’m reminded that although I’m not where I want to be, I can still thank God, because I’m definitely not where I used to be.

Depression is hard. But what’s crazy is that it’s one of the ways that I’m reminded that there is a God, especially one who cares about me. Because I’d fail if it was all on me. If I had to depend on my own smarts and resources to navigate depression, I would have left this place a long time ago. So, even though I still struggle with this really hard thing, the fact that I’m still here, that I continue to keep going without even really knowing how, is evidence of God’s fingerprints.

What about you? Is there something that you want to escape, but can’t? How do you get through it?

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Just keep going…

The last few weeks have been a lot. I’ve been under some stress that just kept building and building until, before I knew it, I was well into a depressive episode. For some reason, they usually take me by surprise.

I was having migraines every day, almost all day, for two weeks, not eating, doing the bare minimum at home and work, and withdrawing from everyone in my life before I recognized what had happened. I thought I was treading water. But in reality, the water was 100 feet above my head.

Have you ever had an experience where everything just seems to fall apart all at once?

Remember that workplace trauma I told you about? A really difficult relationship with a colleague and a reluctance to address it by leadership triggered the hell out of me. The details were different, but it felt all too familiar. And the more they dragged it out, month after month, the less safe I felt. It felt like I was being attacked, rejected, and abandoned all over again.

And I thought, “how could I be going through all of this again? Is it me? What am I doing wrong here?” And then, once I remembered that I’m not responsible for the way other people behave, including when I ask for help, I just felt alone, yet in the same place, again.

But I couldn’t just go forward like it didn’t matter. Something in my spirit wouldn’t let me. So, I set a boundary. I told leadership that I couldn’t, wouldn’t, interact with this person until they addressed the issue. Eventually, they at least had a conversation. But the sense that it wasn’t enough wouldn’t allow the burden to lift.

Around the same time, the new relationship I had developed with a tenderhearted man was beginning to shake. We were unequally yoked  – two people who wanted to be together, but were walking at two entirely different paces and not always in the same direction faith-wise. I had known from the very the beginning that this was a possibility, a certainty really, but I went forward anyway. And as the relationship crumbled around us, the painful rejection I felt was compounded by my own lack of wisdom in the first place.

A week or two later, I would find myself in the middle of another break-up. It was the end of my time with my out-of-state EMDR therapist, a person whose work with me had been truly transformational. There was no blow up, no drama, the rules just wouldn’t allow it anymore.  So, though we knew the end was coming, it didn’t make saying goodbye any easier. Up to that point I had been filled with dread, but it turned to grief when everything was said and done.  

And finally, a dinner with an old colleague and his wife that I had hoped would have been an enjoyable experience, ended up being the exact opposite. Instead of laughing and cracking jokes with the man who regularly checked-in with me, I found myself constantly dodging questions about why I wasn’t married or had a boyfriend from his wife. And in the wake of my recent breakup, I wasn’t ready for any of it. The dinner had only been an hour and a half, but when we parted, I felt like I had spent hours being judged and had come up short.

It was A LOT to endure all at once. I thought I was maintaining  – treading water. But the pain of each scenario pushed me further and further below the water’s surface. And when I finally opened my eyes and looked around, I saw that I was in a familiar place. I was failing at life  – again  – and that made it worse.  More tired than anything else, I just wanted to give up on everything, including life itself.

Before I decided to follow Jesus, I thought that being a believer would take those negative feelings away forever. I thought I would never experience pain, make mistakes, or feel alone ever again. But in the years since, I’ve learned that isn’t true. I wish I could say that I pushed my way through the despair that I felt or that Jesus suddenly washed it all away. But neither would be true.

What I did was cry a lot, get angry with myself and God, repent and do it all over again. But there’s one thing that made the difference.  When I accepted Jesus, I also accepted his spirit, the Holy Spirit, and invited them into my heart and my life. The Holy Spirit leads us in ways that we can’t always see at the time. Moment by moment the Holy Spirit directs us to the things that will comfort and restore us, even as we struggle.

It can start with something as simple as a glass of water. That bit of hydration can give us the clarity to take a shower, then lotion our bodies, have a little food, or take a nap.  Bit by bit, he leads us to just keep going, one thing, one step at a time. And slowly, over time, you notice the despair lifting.  It’s not a “suddenly” kind of thing, at least, it hasn’t been for me.

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There’s something I haven’t told you Pt. II

Boundaries is a brave new world I’ve decided to enter. It’s a journey that started years ago. Back then, I danced around the edge of this territory, letting circumstances push me across the border only when people-pleasing became entirely too much to bear.  But now, sensing, acknowledging and standing ten toes down in my boundaries is an intentional choice.  Why?

Because what I thought was honoring my faith and being selfless, gracious, and considerate was actually making me look and feel like a doormat – in Jesus’ name. And Jesus didn’t die for me to become a doormat.

I’ve had to make a choice about whether maintaining the comfort of others is more important than preserving my own peace.  And finally, that answer is no.

Like the email that I sent to my supervisor a few weeks ago, I had another boundary-setting experience around the same time.

A colleague from the toxic workplace noted in my last post will be in a nearby city for a conference soon. He is exactly one person out of one that I still talk to from that job. He is one of very few people from that era that I’ve spoken to with any honesty or vulnerability, simply because he’s one of the even fewer people that showed that they cared through any of it. So, while it can be hard to engage with him at times because of the memories it stirs up, I value him, if for nothing else, because of his compassion towards me.

So, knowing that he’d be nearby, but that I wouldn’t be at the conference, I suggested that we have dinner at some point during his trip. But I had one condition – that it just be him and his wife. I have no interest in a reunion with anyone else and I said so. And I meant it.

It was a simple sentence ending with a period. But if that little period could have conveyed the intensity in my heart, it would have blown 5G to bits. Because I meant it with the intensity of a bomb.

I meant it with so much force, such ferocity, that I wouldn’t hesitate to say it to their faces and walk right out of the restaurant, if I arrived to a surprise gathering of old ghosts. No thank you.

It’s a level of authenticity that I wasn’t able to achieve back when everything was going down.

I used to think it made me more of a professional to not let other people’s actions and reactions deter me from the task at hand. I thought that sidestepping insults and staying on task was a skill. And by the time I made it home every day, I thought I could shake the day off like dropping my clothes in the hamper. And it’s possible that on most days, I did.

But in the aftermath of that fiasco, I was so concerned with whether I would ever find another job and not looking bitter or like an “angry black woman”, that I pushed those feelings of betrayal and abandonment down within me. I wouldn’t acknowledge them publicly, though I cried and mourned privately.

I quit, but gave a month’s notice. When the boss decided to throw me a going away party, I played it like it was too much of a fuss, instead of outright saying the “Hell No” that was thrashing around in my chest. I humored those who asked about my next steps, knowing that they only wanted to gossip about me. And on my last day, stayed late to make sure I left things in decent order for the next person.

I wasn’t being authentic. I was cool and calm on the outside, but I was raging on the inside.

I was sacrificing my mental health and well-being in the name of professionalism. But it wasn’t worth it – the PTSD nightmares, depressive episodes, and mind-bending anxiety that followed have proven that. Now, after all of the work I’ve done in therapy, I’m ready to abandon that way of living.

My unwillingness to endure extreme discomfort, just so that others are comfortable, might seem unchristian. But in this case, it’s actually progress. It’s wisdom that has been hard earned. It’s actually evidence of healing. Â