Resilience

I’m tired of being handled like an unbreakable doll—

twisted, pulled apart, dragged through the mud.

On the outside, I still look like new,

because my body’s exterior was built with that sturdy ’90s material,

not the flimsy plastic they use to make things today.

My spirit tells me to keep going,

and there’s hope that I’ll see the light at the end of the tunnel.

But at what cost—

if my spirit is breaking while my exterior appears to stay intact?

My mind is a battlefield,

caught between the will to keep going

and the desperate desire to give up.

I’m tired.

I’m defeated.

I’m lost.

This year has felt like I’ve been constantly treading water,

with no land in sight.

No space to breathe—

just moving my arms over and over

so I don’t get fully submerged.

When you’re resilient, you just keep going.

And because you keep going,

people can’t see how bad it really is.

I have to take accountability for my part in that too—

I trained myself to swallow my emotions,

to handle it, because I always do.

I put up a good image.

I don’t look like what I’ve been through,

and that’s part of the problem—

rooted in perfection.

I can’t fall apart.

I can’t be unkept.

I must remain a perfect, shiny doll.

But my insides are dying,

and only now am I realizing

just how bad it really is.

The truth is, I’m scared

that if I stop treading water, I’ll drown.

But there has to be something better than this.

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;

and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.”

Isaiah 43:2 (NIV)