Learning to Lean

Learning to Lean Just a Little While
 
“Contend with my opponents, O LORD;
fight against those who fight against me.
Take up Your shield and buckler;
arise and come to my aid.
Draw the spear and javelin against my pursuers;
say to my soul: ‘I am your salvation.’”
— Psalm 35
 
I have been hesitant to write lately.
Perhaps because I have been quietly confronting the possibility
of repeating the same patterns
inside the endless cycle
my life sometimes feels trapped within.
 
I do not want to remain tangled
in the same relationship turmoil
or continue fighting the same mental and emotional battles
I have carried for so long now.
I need change.
Not temporary motivation.
Not emotional highs that disappear by morning.
Not another fleeting moment
of believing things might somehow improve.
Real change.
 
I think many of us ache for this exact thing:
not merely a different life,
but a different self.
 
A healthier self.
A whole self.
A vibrant, renewed, powerful self
that no longer feels ruled
by exhaustion, fear, grief, or survival.
 
I am tired of emotional and mental suffering
reaching into every area of life
and touching the people I love.
Sometimes it feels nearly impossible
to move through this world untouched
by the tormentors of the heart and mind.
 
I press hard against it.
I fight every day for peace.
And I fight
from a very broken place.
Physically.
Emotionally.
Mentally exhausted at times.
 
No pretending here.
No polished performance.
No clenched fists trying to appear stronger than I am.
Only honesty.
When I write,
I write uncovered.
 
Whether I am speaking
about the beauty of love
or the chaos within my own thoughts,
the message is real.
The love is real.
The pain is real.
The struggle is real.
 
These blogs have become my journal.
The unfolding story of my journey.
Some days I write
from inside a mental cage
where despair feels suffocating and near.
Other days,
the cage feels distant and powerless,
and I soar through words
into places beautiful, weightless, and full of wonder.
 
But I want more freedom than temporary moments of escape.
My soul aches for lasting freedom.
No more revolving doors.
No more endlessly circling the same wounds.
No more surviving without transforming.
I want healing that remains.
 
How does someone like me attain that?
And once it is found,
how is it sustained?
 
Some people make change look effortless.
They decide they want something,
and they rise and move toward it.
Meanwhile, some of us are still fighting
just to reach the starting line.
Does anyone else know what that feels like?
 
God help those of us
who live trapped inside cages of the mind —
bound to grief, fear, regret, trauma,
and destructive patterns
that feel impossible to escape.
I am speaking of the kind
that paralyze you.
 
So many souls sit beside the Pool of Bethesda,
resting within sight of freedom,
yet unable to move themselves into the water.
 
I hear voices everywhere saying:
“You have to save yourself.”
“No one is coming.”
“Push harder.”
“Fix yourself.”
 
But those who are mentally and emotionally paralyzed
are often misunderstood by people
who have never known what it feels like
to be unable to step into the pool.
 
So hear me clearly:
Do not give up.
Please do not give up on yourself.
 
One of the most powerful things
ever spoken to me was this:
 
“Lean on my faith.
Let my faith carry you.
Let my prayers carry you.
Let my hope carry you through.”
 
An actual person spoke those words over me.
And I cannot fully explain
how much anxiety lifted from my soul
when I realized that for a season
I did not have to panic
about being strong enough
to survive everything alone.
 
Sometimes healing begins there —
not in suddenly becoming strong,
but in finally being willing
to lean.
 
I believe there are people reading this
who understand exactly what I mean.
This blog is for you.
 
Maybe right now
you are struggling to believe for yourself.
Then lean for a little while.
Lean on the prayers of others.
Lean on borrowed hope.
Lean on those still capable
of seeing light for you
when your own vision has grown dim.
 
And if you have no one beside you right now,
then lean here for a moment.
I will believe for you.
 
“Let not your heart be troubled.”
Jesus spoke those words
because He knew torment would come.
He knew fear would come.
He knew exhaustion would come.
And still,
He spoke peace.
 
I may not know your name.
But I will pray for you.
I will hope for you
while your own hope feels weak and broken.
 
I am believing for you.