Confession

Avoid. Withdrawal. Elude.

These three actions have taken the AWE out of my life. The moment I walked across the stage on December 17, 2016, to grab my empty degree shell, a large part of me dove into the most remote cavern of my soul. Once there, my imagination remained curled in the fetal position.

I wrestled with saying goodbye. I brawled with spirits of failure. But I could not write about either.

No tears fell as numbness radiated throughout my being. And I still could not write about the dryness in my heart.

I did not want to leave my bubble. My home. My haven. But instead of processing this with written words, I grew mute, deaf, and blind to reality.

I clung to a piece of my life that brought joy overflowing even when my faith felt bruised. My stubborn and childish refusal to move forward slowly began to rob me of bliss. And I still could not find the desire to write about something paralyzing me.

Then someone wrote me a thank you card. It ended with: “well done, good and faithful servant.”

I shattered as I read the six words that clipped the final strand to a life that changed my life trajectory, that allowed me to use my voice and become something more. The dam behind my eyes broke flooding my heart. For a moment, I drowned in a surge of emotion. However, my mind refused to let me vocalize anything. So, no words emerged. Silence became an outer wall keeping my words behind rock and mortar.

Picking up pieces quietly, I applied for a master’s program. My essays answered the questions but did not reveal anything about me. A mentor encouraged me to trust my voice, to write my truth. The day the application was due, I rewrote three essays. I opened wounds to reveal shadows and dreams. I bled onto the keyboard daring the blinking cursor to call me a liar.

After I was finished, my need to write retreated down into the murk again.

Then I waited. Avoided. Withdrew. Eluded.

Two weeks later, I was accepted. School commenced three weeks later.

Fear began to seep back into my veins. No sound arose from my vocal chords. No matter how much my fingers reached for a pen, no words appeared. Nothing illuminated in my vision.

An episode lurked on the edge of everything. But even with the possibility of chaos, I forced myself forward. If I wasn’t supposed to be back in school, I wouldn’t be.

Then the same mentor who encouraged me to follow my voice told me about a job opening. My second week of school, I began working for a wonderful nonprofit that keeps me serving others and allows me to think creatively. Slowly, very effing slowly, words began to form under my skin. Fragmented arrows of thought began to shoot through my disordered mind.

Six months after walking in a cap and gown, I let my fingertips reach for letters to form a story, an explanation, a prayer. There are thank you cards to write—words evade me here still—and blogs to formulate. Old stories to revamp and new tales to be shared.

Refusing to set myself up for failure, I am withholding judgment when I begin to avoid, withdrawal or elude. Hope has begun to bloom in the recesses of my being. I feel the lost part of myself stretching and reaching out to the Creator for inspiration that sets fire to the routine of silent nothings.

I want to live in AWE.