I'm honored to have the opportunity to share some words at today. I reworked to share: about sadness and the Beatitudes, and therapy. Here's a peek. (I'd love for you to join me .)
I went to therapy ten years ago when I was twenty-something, newly wed, a wannabe-poet. I was married to a kind, genuinely loving man. I studied in an exciting graduate writing program. My days were full of friendships and meaningful ministry. And despite the ease and sweetness of my life, I was internally cold, overwhelmed, sad. I found myself on the couch in my pajamas day after day, crying about unreturned emails. I felt weak and helpless and incapable of fixing myself.
Going to counseling is one of the bravest and wisest things I’ve ever done.
I realized then that I had always had an assumption about therapy: It was for the Really Messed Up People. I assumed that you went to therapy because there was nothing left to do. It was when you weren’t prayerful enough to let Bible study change you. It was for the spiritually weak.By the time I finally went to counseling, I’d been in a dark tunnel for a long time.
So last summer, as I worked on a book about my loss and rediscovery of prayer, and unraveled the story of my faith, I struggled to make sense of the vulnerabilities and wounds from my past.
I didn’t know how to hold the depth of my own fragility. I didn’t know how to tell a true story without hurting myself in the process.
And when the old sadness came creeping in, I found a counselor immediately. Not because I was at the end of my rope, but because by now I’ve learned I no longer have to live there, at the end of my rope.
Endformen entstehen, wenn https://www.hausarbeit-agentur.com/ nur der letzte teil des kompositums bestehen bleibt