Perhaps it is because I am on a Augusten Burroughs reading frenzy.
Perhaps it is because I am out of work, and have a lot of time to ruminate.
Perhaps it is because if I don’t do something with all the conflict and angst within me, my head will explode.
Perhaps it is part of my internal healing
Perhaps it is none of the above….or all of them.
The more I look within, the more I realize how “F”-ed I really am. Having come to this great epiphany, I see now, how I am my own worst enemy. What follows is revelations of what I have learned about myself over the past three months of unemployment.
I do a lot of dreaming and a lot of talking, but when it comes right down to it, my dreams never take on substance, and they dissipate into the air like mist rising from an icy lake on a warm spring morning.
Fear, doubt in my abilities, and lack of self-confidence have kept me in a perpetual state of motivational paralysis for most of my adult life. This had led to the destructive pattern of procrastination. The fruit of which can be seen by looking at my professional and financial life.
My self-image was shattered long ago, growing up among peers and a parent that used sledge hammers to pummel out of me any shred of self-worth and purpose. I have, since that time forgiven….but the residual effects of this berating continue influence my life up to today. The results of this have made me indecisive, allowing others to make decisions and choices even if I disagreed internally because it is always better avoid conflict. And this passivity has created in me doubt and regret that I have never been a “good enough” son, brother, husband, father, counselor, or Christian. Being driven by the desires and the wants of others is a poison that has killed much of who I was created to be.
So what? Why would my screwed up existence matter to anyone reading this?
Maybe it doesn’t, but by writing about it I am beginning to take the control back that I have allowed the past to own. By exposing to the light my inner prisons, I am allowing God to open the door of that secret room and allow for the fist time His healing and grace to pour in.
My eyes are beginning to adjust to this resurrection light, I am fearful, but hopeful, that maybe it is time to step through the door into His arms of grace and healing. He can bring back to life what others have destroyed and restore me to that which I have been created to be.
For today, I am pushing the door open a little more.