Behind the Curtain: The Other Story

My previous post was an exercise in acknowledging all of the space I'm in. The fact that I have some consistent themes to my internal (and external) struggles is just that - a fact. I often hide it, because there's this bizarre misconception (that I share) that if you're doing things right then you shouldn't be struggling.

Years ago I was blessed to watch firsthand as strong women opened up about their very real, very normal struggles, and be met with love and support. It was a huge turning point in starting to understand that it's okay to not be perfect. You're not supposed to be. And it's okay to ask for help. That's why we have loved ones - so they can lend us their strengths and we can lend them ours.

In more recent years, my social media feeds have consistently sported multiple memes, infographics, posts, and everything else to encourage and promote being open about not being perfect. Open about the emotional spectrum that goes beyond the "happy/motivated" warm fuzzy feelings.

My previous post might have hit some folks in an unexpected way. Either because they haven't seen me be that open before (at least not at that length), or because it struck a chord in their own hearts, or because that kind of sharing is just not done very much.

This post will look much like the last one, with a key difference. This time, I will be emphasizing the truths, challenges, and belief changes that pushed me forward. It was important to me to lay the groundwork of the struggle first, because it was never one or the other, either wrestling with shame or growing into boldness. They happened at the same time.

You do not have to have it all together to take the next step. And it doesn't matter if that step is a tactical retreat or an advance. 

If this helps even one person navigate their circumstances, it will be worth it.

A brief summary from my last post:

• I seek comfort in stability, predictability, and conformity.
• I have previously been uncomfortable to the point of distress if I felt that I could not attain these.
• When I am distressed, I run away; usually this is entirely mental/emotional, but at times it has manifested in "quitting" whatever endeavor I perceived to be the source. There's usually somewhere else to run to that's equally as acceptable, so I got away with this for a long time.
• Every time I ran, the belief that I'm a failure sent its roots a little deeper. This corroborated with (or maybe caused) an equally deep sense of shame.

The year of 2021 was the year my struggles finally refused to be ignored. I was going to have to start dealing with that constant companion of deeply rooted shame.

Briefly looking back on this journey, there were times during PT school when I would be so overwhelmed and stressed that I would literally call in sick, just to give myself some breathing room and mentally recover. This mostly happened during our clinical rotations, which were full-time clinic hours.

And I would be so ashamed. Ashamed! Why should I need to take that space, take the extra time? I don't have any mental illness or disorder, and all my peers were struggling too, but they didn't ever have to run away for a day. So it was something wrong with me.

But I was confident that I was where I was meant to be. I would breathe, prepare myself, and come back determined to learn and to persevere. I tried to give myself grace for needing a mental health day, and talked to my classmates to reassure myself that we all felt like we were floundering. We helped hold each other up, until we could each swim on our own.

As a new grad physical therapist, there was an expected learning curve and expected adjustment phase. Thank God my professors and clinical instructors all made this clear, because it would have been so much worse otherwise.

Adjusting to my first job as a physical therapist was chaos. I hated feeling like I didn't know what I was doing, but I had an incredible support system at that clinic. They reminded me so often to ask my questions that I finally started to believe that it really was okay.

I started to truly believe that it was okay if I didn't have all the answers.
That it was okay to ask.

Despite that incredible support system in my ideal clinic setting, I still had some dark days. Probably had a few "sick days." I am a firm believer in counseling, and sought it out, which helped a little bit. The person I worked with wasn't a great match for me, so it wasn't as effective as it could've been.

I recognized that I was not handling my stress well and reached out for professional help.

The height of the pandemic saw a significant drop in everyone's caseloads. The slower pace was so sustainable and calming for me. I was finally able to be the therapist I wanted to be, because my tangled ball of survival/identity stress had made way for creativity and problem solving.

I tasted what I could be, and it filled me with joy and hope.

I started to believe that maybe I really might be a good therapist.

As things began to open back up, the visit numbers in a day increased. They weren't as high as they had been, but it was bittersweet all the same. I was loyal to my clinic because of my coworkers, and I wanted to do my part. But I knew the recovering caseloads would bring the tangled ball back, sooner or later.

I wound up getting let go from that position, due to insufficient funding in the wake of the pandemic shutdowns. I didn't hold it against them. After all, the goal had never been to settle in the city where I was located. So, this was the opportunity I needed to keep moving forward.

This was the summer of 2020. New city, new job, new house, all in the span of about 3 weeks. I couldn't have done it without the support of my church family, my blood family, and God himself paving the way for me.

And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, "This is the way, walk in it," when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.

Isaiah 30:21-22 (ESV)

I'd already been through some major adjustment phases before this, so I expected there to be some growing pains. And there definitely were. But again, I was surrounded by genuinely helpful people and working in a setting I legitimately enjoyed. Each season of stress before this, I'd gotten just a little bit more skilled at navigating through those waters and staying afloat. This time, I tried to plan out how I was going to use my PTO and down time in order to give myself the rest days I knew I would need. I didn't want to take last-second mental health days.

I was learning myself, and preparing to manage my stressors and stress responses.

I still took last-second "sick days" sometimes. I used them to catch up on notes, but at my own pace. It was almost enjoyable, doing it that way.

Even on the "bad days," I was learning what constitutes a "good day" for me. For Kaitlin.

My stress management efforts were effective, but not as effective as they needed to be. The notes always piled back up, and the lateness of my completion of those notes was a constant presence in emails and staff meetings. I very literally was not measuring up.

I asked for help.

I asked for help from my clinic director, who I believed could and would help me.

I asked for help from an authority who could've judged me negatively, but I asked anyway, because I needed help.

This was unfolding early in 2021, maybe February or January. My request was received with the grace and support of a true leader. My clinic director was the kind that legitimately wanted everyone to do well, and he would move mountains to help make that happen. After talking things over, he connected me with resources that helped me not overthink my documentation quite as much. And it really did help!

But the problem persisted. I hated that it was still a problem, that something about me was still a problem. Why was this fundamental component of being a physical therapist so difficult for me?

But I had asked for help, and received it, and it had helped. I had put it into practice. I was capable of acting on feedback and critique and suggestions, and capable of improving.

Maybe it wasn't enough, but at least I was capable.

I had decided to just keep pushing forward, and hope that eventually I would reach the point that every other clinician seemed to arrive at. Eventually I would only be annoyed by documentation, like everyone else; I wouldn't be crippled by undermanaged stress over it.

In late January 2021, I also took a weekend virtual certification course to use Parkinson's Wellness Recovery (PWR!) in the clinic setting. I absolutely loved every second of it. Learning is one of my favorite things, and the more it highlights the connection between the brain and the body, the better. This was all that and more. My passion for physical therapy was at bonfire status.

This same optimism and passion threw into sharp contrast where I was. This was the first real break in the glass.

I had tasted what I wanted to provide.

I didn't know how in the world I was going to make it happen, but it was officially in my plans.

I would endure clinic life for maybe 3-5 more years, networking and maturing as a clinician, and then I would create my own gift to the community. I would be myself as a clinician and help others be themselves.

In the Spring of 2021 (maybe April?), I broke almost completely. Coming to work 2-3 hours early was normal for me by that point; it was the only way I could stay even remotely on top of my notes. After doing that for several weeks, pulling into the parking lot started to become a constant reminder of my failings as a staff physical therapist. For about a month leading up to this particular day, it wasn't uncommon for me to pull in, stare at the business sign, and cry, pray for strength, sigh in resignation, or all three.

But, by this point, I knew I was a good clinician. I knew it was just this aspect of the job that I was struggling with. But Kaitlin Cordova was a good physical therapist.

One day I pulled into the parking lot. I hadn't come early that day. I think it had already been a difficult morning for me. (A difficult few months, honestly.) It was a crying response that time, and the thought "what if I just turned around and went home" was back again. It was stronger this time, though. Less of an errant thought and more like a survival instinct to run.

Like every other time, I pulled myself together and went inside. Didn't last long. After pulling up my schedule for the day, I made the call that I couldn't be there. Not that day, anyway. It was certainly the most drastic last-second mental health day I ever took.

I hated that I was still struggling so much. Hadn't I done the right things? Wasn't I trying hard enough? Was it really just a question of time or was there something wrong with me? How could it possibly be true that I was so weak and selfish and slow that I had to leave my coworkers to manage their caseload, plus the patients I abandoned for the day? How could I possibly be such a failure? Why couldn't I do this normal thing like everyone else? Why did I have to be so needy?

But I would've hurt myself and others more if I had stayed.
On that day, I did what I needed to do, for me and for them.
I did not run away. I retreated.

I connected with a new counselor that day and was able to get on her schedule really quickly. I needed help beyond the practicalities of fulfilling my job description. Whatever was inside me that triggered that reaction had to be dealt with. This could not happen again, not if I wanted to stay gainfully employed and reasonably content. Even if I gave up PT and became a tradesperson, whatever was inside me would just follow me to the next thing, just like it had been following me through everything all my life up to then.

I recognized that something had to change, and quickly. Regardless of how I felt about it, I owned up to this fact. And I took action.

In addition to starting with a counselor, I met with my boss and discussed job practicalities, including a reduced workload. Obviously he was not in a position to be an emotional/mental support, but he supported me in every professional way possible. His kind heart and incredible servant-leadership was a blessing. Still is a blessing.

I learned to expect good leaders to care about the ones they're responsible for.

I learned that a good leader will gladly work with you to help you be well as you go about your job.

I learned that if I want the answer to a question, I can ask it straight out. It is their choice how to respond.

And I finally started to consider that my boss truly meant it when he said that I had something special. Something worth fighting for.

We waited two months to see if the counseling and the practical changes would have enough promise that I would feel confident in staying on as a staff PT. And I did feel better with the reduced workload, of course. That was my happy place, I already knew that much about myself.

I was so conflicted during that waiting period. I was happier, but I knew it was temporary. I knew the tangled ball of survival stress was just going to come right back once we started trying to increase my caseload again. Something inside was refusing to heal, and it refused to be rushed. Damn me for having something broken inside. Damn them all for trying to help.

But there were people willing to help, and I didn't have to go it alone.

But there was a way for me to be happy as a staff PT, even if it might not be sustainable.

But I was actively seeking help, something I had always struggled with in the past.

The internal conflict was intense. I still remembered my five-year plan from back in February. I knew what made me happy working as a PT. But those things looked increasingly unattainable. I had tried so hard to make it work, and had amazing support beyond what I ever would have thought to ask for. Yet even so, it gradually became clear that Kaitlin Cordova could not work as a traditional staff PT.

I wasn't sure what to do. Physical therapy was all I wanted. Outpatient orthopedic, to be specific. How could I have that, though? I'd had two incredible jobs in that exact setting with more support than I ever thought I could have, and it very clearly was not working out.

Conflict needs at least two sides. Sometimes they can compromise and coexist. Sometimes one has to surrender to the other. But the two sides always have to address each other.

During that two-month waiting period, I was consistent with my counseling sessions, and I did the homework she gave me. I needed this to work. I could not stay as I was.

And I started to learn to value myself for just being me. Not for whatever mold I could fit into.

I started to admit to myself the specifics of what makes me special. The gifts and talents and uniqueness that God created me to have. The ways Kaitlin bears the image of God himself for the world to see.

I started to learn about boundaries, and how there were some that I consistently ignored with myself. I've told numerous friends, especially women, to stand firm on their boundaries. But here I was, completely ignoring my own on a shockingly regular basis.

I started to learn that boundaries are good, that protecting them protects me, and that I am more of who I was made to be when I protect them.

Emotions are difficult for me to express and articulate. Often I let music do it for me. The music I was listening to during the first half of 2021 echoed my fierce determination to keep fighting. Sometimes it gave words and movement to my angst. Unbeknownst to me, it was also nurturing the roots of my self-assuredness and self-worth. That music was vital during that time of intense internal conflict and processing.

The conflict between what I dreamed of being and what I thought I needed to be started to shift. I researched other ways I could use my Physical Therapy degree aside from being in a clinic. None of them looked very appealing, but I was open to the possibility.

I researched other lines of work altogether, and buckled down on my budget to figure out how much I actually needed to earn in a month to make ends meet and have a little fun now and then. (And to keep dancing. Ballroom dance was another major lifeline during all this, where I could practice being more of myself than I even knew I had. And where I could forget about my worries for a little while. And smile. And dance.)

I hated that I hadn't been able to fit into the box I thought I was supposed to be in.

But I refused to lay down and die. I would find something meaningful and keep going.

Or I would find something unfulfilling, but temporary.

Regardless, I would keep going.

I accepted that any path I chose would be hard. If I chose to stay at the clinic, it would be hard. If I chose to leave, it would be hard. But I could choose my hard.

While I had been researching ways to earn money outside the clinic, at some point it occurred to me to check if there was a way to do what I truly wanted to do in the first place. That would be the ideal scenario.

I don't even know what search terms I used, but I found what I needed. I found a group on Facebook called Uncaged Clinician, and it was full of clinicians just like me who wanted to give their best, but doing so didn't fit in the traditional model.

I kept searching until I found likeminded people. And I bonded myself to them, and learned as much as I could as quickly as I could.

I sought counsel from friends, family, and my counselor.

And I decided to choose myself over the box I had been trying to put myself in.

Still, I had spent so much time committing myself to the box of "normal" employment, that it was very hard for me to come to terms with the fact that I had forsaken it. It felt like I had failed at what I had set out to do. Like I had failed at being a normal member of society.

But I didn't fail.
I acknowledged the conflict. I considered both sides. I sought counsel.
And I changed course.

In all honesty, I still have those "I'm a failure" thoughts sometimes. I spent a long time cultivating those thought patterns, though, so really it's amazing that I've come as far as I have in such a short period of time, to where I can more consistently receive those thoughts with curiosity rather than shame. "Well now that's a mean thing to say about myself. What about this makes makes me think that way?"

Internal conflicts of this magnitude don't resolve nice and neat and clean. For a long time, I didn't broadcast that I had voluntarily left stable employment to become an entrepreneur. After all, it wasn't what I was "supposed" to do, and based on my thought patterns up to that point, that made me less-than.

That broken belief was strong enough that it didn't matter to me that I'd left in order to pursue my dreams of helping people feel better, move better, and stay better so that they not only recovered from their injuries, but became better versions of themselves. It didn't matter, because ultimately I believed I had failed to do what I was "supposed to." (I feel compelled to add that becoming a better version of yourself isn't always an improvement in physical function. Sometimes it is just learning how to work with your body instead of against it.)

Come now, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit"—yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, "If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.'"

James 4:13-15 (ESV)

The same God who gave me my dreams and passions intended for me to see them through in ways I hadn't anticipated. And that's okay! (It took me so long to be able to say that sincerely, y'all.)

This past Summer, when I chose to leave the box, I also chose to continue a positive trend of asking for help instead of trying to do it all on my own. The Facebook group I had found had a coaching program available to help people like me get started and have a fighting chance. I'd had enough of "failure," and I needed this to succeed. Even better, I knew that I could succeed, as long as I had the right people in my corner.

I chose my hard.

I chose my people.

I chose to start taking up space instead of contorting into a box.

And even though it is hard, I have never felt so free.

Behind the Curtain: Growth Doesn't Happen in a Vacuum

Something I noticed over the past couple months is that my Facebook comments, Messenger replies, and text threads were increasingly turning into novels. Even my Instagram Stories started to sport large chunks of text. "Guess this means I need to start blogging again," I would say.

Well, I'm here now. And I accidentally wrote a novella.

The purpose of this post is to show a more complete picture of what goes on behind the scenes when there's obvious growth. Social media can only show so much. And not much is shared in the first place, because it's just not the place for it. So, here's my novella on the struggles that have prompted any growth you may have seen on my socials.

If this helps even one person navigate their circumstances, it will be worth it.

A lot of growth happened for me during 2021. I did not seek out these growth opportunities. I did not decide "I'm going to work on this aspect of how I view myself and the world!" and go after it. It was practically forced upon me - I would have been quite content to stay as I was and continue on with my comfortable life. Ha.

Some personal context: I'm the type of person that seeks comfort through routines, familiarity, and (relatively) conforming to norms.

When those things are disrupted or I feel as though I cannot attain them, there is distress. My first inclination is always to assume there is something wrong with me, because whatever it is I'm struggling with just shouldn't be that hard. That is my typical thought process, but over the course of this past year I have started to give myself options other than "it's because you're a failure."

The way I have typically dealt with this discord is to mentally run away, to ignore it and just keep trying to fit myself into whatever box I think I need to fit into. Believe it or not, this usually works out fine for me. (Probably because most of my problems up to recent years have been school related, and I'm actually really good at "doing school.")

Well, this year my struggles finally refused to be ignored. I was going to have to start dealing with the lingering sense of deeply rooted shame.

There had been warning signs during PT school. Times when I would be so overwhelmed and stressed that I would literally call in sick, just to give myself some breathing room and mentally recover.

And I would be so ashamed. Ashamed! Why should I need to take that space, take the extra time? I don't have any mental illness or disorder, and all my peers were struggling too, but they didn't ever have to run away for a day. So it was something wrong with me.

As a new grad physical therapist, there was an expected learning curve and expected adjustment phase. Thank God my professors and clinical instructors all made this clear, because it would have been so much worse otherwise.

I had amazing support at my first job, which was with a relatively small organization serving rural communities in Eastern Kentucky. (I grew up in Alabama, but I have never been more in the South than when I moved north for this job.) My clinical director was wonderful. My co-workers were great people who always welcomed my questions. They all actively, repeatedly encouraged me to actually ask my questions instead of trying to do it all on my own.

Despite that incredible support system in my ideal clinic setting, I still had some dark days. Probably had a few "sick days." I am a firm believer in counseling, and sought it out, which helped a little bit. The person I worked with wasn't a great match for me, so it wasn't as effective as it could've been.

We were all laid off for about 5 weeks during the COVID-19 outbreak in 2020. When we returned, it was slow going to get people back in the door.

During that time, if I saw 6 people in a day, it was a "busy" day. For reference, in an outpatient orthopedic setting, seeing less than 10 patients in an 8 hour day will get you some unwanted attention regarding productivity levels.

I'm not a fast-paced person by nature, and I have a lot of difficulty revving myself up for extra bursts of energy, focus, and critical thought. I crammed for tests in school like anyone else, but those were always short-lived with plenty of slower days in between to recover. I was in physical therapist heaven seeing so few patients during the pandemic.

Like I said earlier, the company I was working for was relatively small. The numbers did pick up (which was bittersweet for me), but they'd taken a hard hit and had to let people go. I'd only been on for a year, so I was one of the ones let go. It became the opportunity I needed to finally move up to Lexington, which had been my goal from the start. I moved out of my place, got a job with a larger organization that didn't make me feel like a cog in a machine, and found a house to rent. In that order. It was a whirlwind summer.

New job means new documentation system, new patient cases, new coworkers, and new organizational infrastructure to learn. (Living in a new city in a new house wasn't as much of a stressor; I'd already moved plenty of times before, and I'd made several trips up to Lexington while living in my previous place.) I expected it to be hard, because I'd been through similar adjustment phases already with grad school and my first job. And it was definitely hard. But again, I was surrounded by genuinely helpful people and working in a setting I legitimately enjoyed.

I took it for fact that the dark days would come eventually. I tried to be proactive with taking PTO this time, and my clinic director actively encouraged this for all his staff therapists.

I still took "sick days" sometimes, and used them to catch up on notes.

It felt like I never could stay caught up. The notes always piled back up. I asked for help in managing how I was doing them, which helped me not overthink them quite as much. But the problem persisted.

Again, I was ashamed. Why was this fundamental component of being a physical therapist so difficult for me?  The paperwork struggle is a common theme in the PT world, and we all joke about it. But it caused me so much anguish to know that I literally was not measuring up. I hated our staff meetings, because numbers were always discussed, and I knew I would always be lacking. No matter how hard I tried, I would never be able to do enough.

One day in the Spring, I pulled into the parking lot. Stared at the employee entrance. And cried.

It wasn't the first time I'd had that response. So, like every other time, I pulled myself together. Mostly. There was still a tension in my chest, an urge to run. But, I'd ignored it every other time prior, and told myself that if I could just get rolling with my patients for the day, I could ignore it and get through the day and that tomorrow wouldn't be as bad.

I walked inside. Opened my computer. Checked the schedule. And decided.

I sent an email to my boss and to our patient service specialist at the front desk to tell them I would not be in that day.

I gathered my things (including my laptop, because I still had notes to do) and went home.

That was the deepest hurt and shame I'd ever felt.

How could it possibly be true that I was so weak and selfish and slow that I had to leave my coworkers to manage their caseload, plus the patients I abandoned for the day? How could I possibly be such a failure? Why couldn't I do this normal thing like everyone else? Why did I have to be so needy?

I connected with a new counselor that day and was able to get on her schedule really quickly. I needed help. Running away has been a theme throughout my life (though evidently I must hide it well), and things had finally come to a point where that method was hurting instead of helping. Whatever is inside me that triggers that reaction had to be dealt with. This could not happen again, not if I wanted to stay gainfully employed and reasonably content. Even if I gave up PT and became a tradesperson, whatever was inside me would just follow me to the next thing.

My boss, who I will never stop applauding for being the kind of leader I hope to be some day, worked with me. We adjusted my schedule and talked practicalities. Obviously he was not in a position to be an emotional/mental support, but he supported me in every professional way possible. His kind heart and incredible servant-leadership was a blessing. Still is a blessing.

We waited two months to see if the counseling and the practical changes would have enough promise that I would feel confident in staying on as a staff PT. And I did feel better with the reduced workload, of course.

And somehow I was more ashamed than before. I knew it was just going to come right back. Something inside was refusing to heal, and it refused to be rushed. Damn me for having something broken inside. Damn them all for trying to help.

I was ashamed. I was about to become a stereotypical Millennial who can't hold a job because it's not a good fit. "Sorry, everyone, I know y'all were really excited for me to become a Doctor of Physical Therapy, but looks like I can't hack it after all. Don't mind me, just going to go quietly disappear."

What a shame, that I had been able to attend the program I felt so weirdly called to, work the perfect job for me right out of school, and work in another fantastic and supportive setting in the city I was called to - what a shame that I'd gotten all that and would have to throw it all away. What a shame that good things had happened to me. Shame.

During those two months of "wait and see," I was in a very lonely place. I researched other ways I could use my very expensive doctorate. I looked at other career paths that could pay at least enough to cover my living expenses and impressive student loan debt. Somewhere in there, I decided that if I chose to continue in the traditional outpatient ortho setting, that I would end up in the same lonely, desperate place again. It would only be a matter of time. Taking that off the table broke my heart. After all, I had been so sure that God had called me to physical therapy. I didn't want to be anything else.

And during those same months, while I had some breathing room at work and some good, difficult discussions with my counselor, I found a Facebook group. It was almost an accident, really. During one of my many internet expeditions for alternative work, I searched another physical therapy group I was already part of to see if something like what I wanted even existed. If there was any way I could still be a PT without wrecking myself, that was what I wanted.

I wound up clinging to that new group like the lifeline that it was. Excited and hopeful as I was, I tried to consider my options as objectively as I could. Big decisions shouldn't be made from a place of deep hurt or ecstatic joy.

After what I hoped was careful enough consideration, I wound up leaving my job and starting my own mobile private practice.

And y'all, I WAS STILL ASHAMED.

Aside from informing my patients that I would be leaving and their care would be picked up by another member of the staff, I barely told a soul about my decision. Despite all my consideration, it still felt like a desperate, reckless move.

Everyone I did tell was happy for me. Several people have told me that they look up to me and they admire my bravery. And I honestly still can't wrap my head around it, because nothing I did was brave by my estimation. In my heart and in my mind, I was just another failure Millennial who couldn't bring herself to conform to what everyone else was doing, and then decided to become an entrepreneur. To me, it looked like the sketch of a storyline for some hokey, stupidly optimistic movie that completely ignores reality in favor of fantasy.

Except now I'm living that storyline. And I get to tell the whole of it, not just the pretty highlight reel.

~~~

This post was mostly to share the truth about what's been going on behind the scenes. It's hard to get a good grasp of these things through social media. Facebook and Instagram make it look like I'm put together and taking bold steps and generally being a badass. Some of that is true - I have taken some pretty bold steps! - but it's not the whole story.

I'm not all fixed up now. I've grown a lot, but I still struggle with shame pretty regularly. However, through the past several months of internal work, those thought habits are not as strong as they once were. The demeaning things I tell myself don't imbed themselves as deeply in my heart, and sometimes they barely stick at all.

Some of the things that have helped me the most during these past several months have been a couple challenges my counselor laid out for me, which helped me start to actually like myself. I even started to admit that I'm good at some things that others are not. It's still hard for me to say these out loud, because it's been such a habit to downplay everything about me. It's hard to start owning the space you occupy when all you've ever tried to do was stay out of the way. But I'm practicing, and as with anything you practice, I'm getting more comfortable with it.

Another thing that has been particularly helpful is to ask myself if I'm doing things well. Did I do everything I could to stay? Did I put in the work to start getting better? Did I research and prepare as best I could for a new step? Did I take action well? Did I choose my people well? When I've had to ask for help, did I do it well? Did I receive help well?

Sometimes the answer is no. But more often than not, the answer has been yes. To the extent of my limited capacity to predict possible paths, I have done as well as I could reasonably expect of myself.

Every path you choose in life is hard. There is no easy way through this life. But you can choose your hard.

You are capable of doing hard things. After all, you're already doing something that's hard.

Whatever you choose, do it well. Something I've learned is that doing something well doesn't mean doing it all by myself. It means being honest about my limitations and enlisting help from others so that I not only accomplish the task, but stay true to who I am throughout the entire process, so that when it is finished, I am still me and have made myself, my helpers, and my task better because of it.

Choose your hard. Do it as well as you reasonably can.

The True Joy of Easter

What a morning. I've had the incredible privilege to worship in song and teaching three times, including a sunrise service. Normally, that would feel like a burden, but today? Today I can't get enough.

Growing up in church, Easter was always just assumed to be a special day. But, I never really understood why. All the important work was done on the cross, right? It was cool and all that he rose from the dead, but so what? Every song that crescendoed at him rising from the grave perplexed me.

By the grace of God, I've been a Christian pretty much all my life. But, as any Christian who's been at this for long enough can tell you, there is always something you don't understand, and always some new facet of the gospel that God is teaching you. In many ways, my college years were not just for higher academic learning, but deeper theological growth. During that time, the Spirit of God started pulling weeds and nurturing seedlings that had been neglected. It's an ongoing process, and I'm so grateful for it.

Around that time is when I started getting serious about Easter. WHY did everyone make such a big deal about this Resurrection thing? (Remember, this event was, for me, simply a given fact. I grew up with it, and my intellectual familiarity with it meant that it did not feel all that strange to me.) I worked my way through the Gospel of Mark one Spring semester, and during Holy Week I read accounts of the respective day's events across all four gospels. With all that lead up beforehand, feeling like I was getting to know a beloved story character (and remembering that he was a real man with real friends and real family)--with all that, I finally began to feel the weight of the Last Supper on Maundy Thursday. The sting of his betrayal. The anger of his mistreatment while on "trial." The soul crushing grief and anguish of his death on Good Friday. And then the emptiness and loss and longing on Holy Saturday.

...

And then! Then!! HE WAS BACK!!! The best friend, the wisest teacher, the kindest heart, the purest soul, the Son of God, the promised salvation had come BACK!!! The joy was so overwhelming! He would never die again. Happiest day!!! I had asked and sought, and I praise God for that truth and inexpressible joy that I found.

That was one of a few events around that time in my life that I can point to as being truly pivotal in my understanding and love of God. Easter has never been the same, though it is usually not as intense an experience as that time in college. But I'm still learning, and the Spirit continues to nurture truths that I've known in my head for years, coaxing them to grow deeper into my heart.

Today, because of churches livestreaming during quarantine, I had the privilege to hear the resurrection story three times, each time presented by a different person with a slightly different perspective. I'd like to share what the Spirit showed me this year during today's Resurrection Sunday sermons.

• "Jesus didn't just die for us, he ROSE for us." The cross and Christ's death is crucial. But the story doesn't stop there. Everything Jesus does is to glorify God by making a people who worships the One True King in spirit and in truth. That applies to his resurrection, too.
• Because of Christ's resurrection, we have a living hope. That hope never fades or fails, and is never at risk of being taken from us. (1 Peter 1:3-9)
• The hope which is so secure is this: Jesus is the firstfruit of a new creation (1 Corinthians 15:20). Our hope is that we are, and are becoming, and will be part of that new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17). Because of that, every aspect of our lives is being transformed, past, present, and future. And in the last day, the transformation of God's creation will be completed, down to the molecules (Philippians 1:6).
• Jesus died to settle our eternal debt. He rose to begin fulfilling the promise of salvation and new creation. He ascended to sit at the right hand of God, a place of honor, power, and favor; in his new place, he continually intercedes for us and grants us access to this place of unprecedented favor with God. Not only that, but at Pentecost following his resurrection, he sent the Spirit of *God Himself* to live inside of us, to give us power to be active participants in the glory of God's kingdom, and to make our lives full to the brim for the glory of God.

Wow! What a wonderful Savior!!

***

Brothers and sisters in Christ, I hope that some part of my story speaks to you. I hope you felt something new in your heart that increases your joy in our incredible Lord and Savior.

And to those of you who may not know what in the world I'm talking about, or understand why all these Christians make such a big deal over Easter, to you I say two things. First, wow, thank you for reading this far. Second, if you have questions, I've got ears. And, God willing, I might even have some answers.

Happy Resurrection Sunday, everyone! He is risen!!!

Single Doesn't Mean Alone

There's a lot to be said about the freedom of being single, especially in the Church. I get to save a good bit of my money, which means I can help support various endeavors from my local church. There's not much pulling on my time, which frees me up to volunteer. Need someone in the children's church last minute? On it. Somebody needs to stand guard at this door and say hi to people? Not my thing, but yeah, I can help with that. Invest in someone younger in the faith? Yep, I've got the time to do that, too.

Plus, I get the incredible opportunity to learn what love and service and "doing life together" looks like in a platonic way. I have the space to invest in deep friendships and learn what it means to live in community with others. I get to learn what that community paired with my singleness feels like, and be empathetic and supportive of my fellow brothers and sisters who for whatever reason are not married. Maybe they're still hoping and waiting, maybe they've chosen singleness for its own sake, or maybe they're attracted to the same sex and have chosen to live single in obedience to God's design for gospel marriage. (I realize that last bit may step on some people's toes, but it's my blog and that's what I believe.)

Married people do all this, too, of course, but from what I've observed it's a lot more challenging for them. There's the bills and the kids and the house and the marriage itself that they've got to keep pouring into. Marriage is a beautiful picture of Christ and his bride (the Church), but it sure looks hard to do. And it takes up a lot of resources, both tangible and intangible.

For all these beautiful opportunities singleness affords me, I would be lying if I said I was fully content with it. I can think of a few reasons why contentedness eludes me, but the fact remains that there is a sense of loneliness that constantly threatens my sense of identity. It tells me I'm unlovable, that I wouldn't be worth a good relationship anyway, that no one should care how I'm doing, that I'm doing fine on my own. It tells me that alone and isolated is what I deserve and all I should ever expect. The pain of those whispered untruths makes me just want to curl into a ball and wrap my aloneness around me like a blanket, as if covering myself in it will somehow make it more comfortable.

Praise God that my walk the past 10 years has led me to local churches that so heavily emphasize being in community with other believers. Not just as a social club (though those are fun, too), but a group of diverse individuals who come from all walks and share a common faith in Jesus Christ, Son of God Almighty. There's a level of excitement when I meet someone who shares similar interests with me (where my Hufflepuffs at??), but there is something profoundly deep and joyful about meeting someone who loves my God for who he is. It's something holy, which means "set apart." It's the kind of deep connection with others that I crave as a single woman. And thank you God that I don't have to be married to experience that kind of connection and share in that kind of love and joy with someone else!

I have been blessed to be part of several such gospel centered communities, in multiple states. I have grown so much because of the love of Christ lived out in a variety of ways, from all kinds of people. The group that showed me how to bring corporate worship into a small group setting, and what it looks like to invest in a particular population in as many ways as possible with all devotion. The one that helped me raise money to go to grad school by donating yard sale items and helping me organize said yard sale. The one that showed me how to continuously and actively engage in the lives of my sisters in Christ. The one that even now encourages me to embrace the kingdom of God and follow wherever the Spirit has laid a path for me. And a hundred other friendships and blessings I'll never forget, but are too many to mention here. I thank God for all of you.

I am single. And when I am very honest with myself, I want to not be single - I would enjoy having someone to partner together with me to love God and for us to grow in our love for Him and for each other. But I also rejoice in my singleness! Because there is incredible treasure to be found here, and because single does not mean alone.