A two-ton elephant periodically sits on my chest. And with every other breath there is a remnant of heaviness that refuses to not announce itself on every exhale. “I’m here!” it shouts. Tempting me to tears or rage or whatever emotions are sitting right on the surface. Of course the more agitated I become, the more anxiety and annoyance do their little two-step, then the more my head aches and swirls, the more my calves and knees weaken. Even in fleeting moments of relative strength when wellness feels possible, the pins and needles remind me to not get too hopeful. But I persevere. I scream for a miracle mostly to drown out the voice of despair.
Y’all. I’m hanging on to the shredded edges of my newfound, borderless trust. Praying desperately for my feet to be able to walk across the waters. To scale these torturous summits on hinds feet. Whatever ails me is trying to capsize both my body and my faith.
I can’t let it.
So I hang on.