I want to Thrive, not just survive

Let's get real. Really real. Real enough to face my own mess.

I need to write. Rip it all out of me and throw it away. But where do I start? Who am I anymore? I haven't felt like myself...or I've felt too much like my real self. The selfish sloth that I can be who can't kickstart her own happiness. Okay, that was harsh...but I guess I just haven't been too thrilled with the way things are lately. I'm tired. I'm worn. I've been chasing I-don't-know-what. I've been fighting a battle that I can't see. And I don't have control...that much I know. I am not superwoman no matter how hard I try. I can kick and scream and cry...but that changes nothing. And this is all very cryptic, I know.

It's been a "fists closed to God" kind of life lately.
I'm not happy. And I'm tired of not being happy.
I am worn out.
I am lonely.
And I am angry.
And I just want to cry... all the freaking time.

Everyday I feel the question...that question Jesus asked the blind man.
"What do you want?"

I can't answer. I don't know. Not really.
I mean, I do know. I want to be happy....real joy that lasts....I just don't know what has to happen for that to be true. What does happiness look like for me these days? What do I need?
I can formulate the perfect life in my head...but even if those things came true. Even if I was living my dream...would that be enough? No matter what I do, what choice I make, I'm still far away from someone or something that I love. I can't have it all. There's always a sacrifice. Is it always going to be like this? Is this the heartache that comes with being an adult? I need more.

Lately I've been realizing how much I let others or circumstances dictate my happiness. But in the end isn't my happiness my own responsibility? It's a matter of focus, right? It could always be worse. Compared to some, I have it pretty good. So why do I struggle. Why? Can't Jesus be enough? Why isn't He? What do I have to do?

All these questions. Hard. Searching. Desperate.

My favorite words to describe this first year of teaching are "marathon" and "roller coaster". But both of those things eventually end. They have to, right?
That's been part of the problem. I remember being homesick when I was in London for a semester, but I could see the finish line when I was there.
This.
This feels more permanent.
And in London at least I felt free...

Writing this feels so raw to me. I question whether I should publish it...but I know (or hope) that someday I'll look back and shake my head at it. Or that maybe someone reading can relate.
Or maybe you're thinking about how naive I am. Or how I need to take all my emotions captive and control them better. How silly all this is. Grow up Amy.
Trust me, I'm trying to. But heck...I don't like it.  There it is, that little secret I've tried to keep. That I don't want to grow up. I still feel very much like a child who just wants her mom and dad. This little girl just wants to go home. Where is home anymore?

God...why the heck am I here!? I thought I was following some kind of direction, but did I just come here because I needed a job?! I have to believe you can use this...work through this. I have to. Come quickly.

People keep telling me that it will get better.

and I just pause quietly...then say:

"I hope so..."

Mondays are hard. Just...hard.

"Ms. Holcomb, were you crying today?" That tall wiry pistol of an eighth grade girl asked me. I hesitated, because the whole never let them see your weakness thing has been nailed into me. But then there's also the part of me that can't lie.
"....yes"
"Why?"
"Because...I miss my family."
"OH! I have family in Arizona. I know what you mean. Don't be sad Ms. Holcomb!" She gave me a half hug and pranced off to her seat...leaving me to collect myself...stunned.
At the end of class she surprised me again. (this girl who has little to no attention span and in the past has been very vocal about how she doesn't care about my class) She handed me a card covered in doodles. On the top it read "Stick your tounge out at the world!" (tongue). I wanted to crack up because, knowing her, it sounds just like her life philosophy. But the compassion behind it was what hit me harder and I choked up. At the end of the day she ran up to me in the hall and gave me a hug and asked if I was feeling better. 

I've had a number of other little moments like this, my students reaching out to me whether they know it or not. What is happening to my students? In the last couple weeks they've suddenly become...dare I say it...a little more caring!?

Or maybe it's me being a little more vulnerable. Realizing how little control I have, and letting my guards down. I guess I didn't know it was this kind of compassion and encouragement I've been needing.

I feel like my students teach me more than I teach them sometimes.
Whenever they get frustrated, or make a mistake, they suddenly lash out and declare "this is stupid! I hate this!" At first, I took defense to this...then realized that it wasn't me they were angry at, it was their own ability. They haven't learned to take a mistake and use it to become better...they just get angry.
I'm like that. I don't like this. It's hard and challenging and I just want to lash out at God and call the whole thing "stupid." Yet, there is something to learn. Always the journey. I hate the journey.

As a reward system we have these things called TigerBucks. Students can use them to buy bigger prizes, but I often find that my 8th graders just pitch them in the trash. But they LOVE when I give candy...because it is instant gratification. I want that too. I want what I want...now! I don't want to receive little pieces of the puzzle, I'd rather get what is sweet, right now. haha!

I look up and see an old Brio poster on my wall, torn corner, and Habakkuk 2:3 written on it.

The image is of a girl letting a butterfly spread it's wings and fly from her hand.

I feel like a butterfly that just wants to go back into its cocoon where it was safe.

I feel safer when I have the covers pulled over my head and I don't have to think about all that is required of me. (reminds me of my friend Heidi's senior art show)

All this fear.

But I'm meant for so much more. I can't go back.

Not sure if writing all that helped. I still feel like there is so much more trapped in me. All I can do is sigh. Breath out the bad, inhale the good. God is still good.

~Merely Mortal