I had a serious medical scare this week, and the last two days were spent curled up on my bed, crying. I was terrified. I thought my life was about to change forever. It was one of those times, one of those many many times, that I thought to myself, there’s no way I can get through this. I prayed the prayer of the truly desperate, a repetitive “help me help me help me” that I chanted like a mantra hour after endless hour. I knew God was there, I knew God could hear me, but I was too frightened to quiet down and listen for an answer to my pleas.

This morning I remembered a book I read recently, Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. I remembered a passage from the book where she spoke of her own desperation, and they way she reached out to God. I remembered it because God answered her, directly, clearly, specifically. On page 54 Elizabeth writes,

“What I write in my journal tonight is that I am weak and full of fear. I explain that Depression and Loneliness have shown up, and I’m scared they will never leave. I say I don’t want to take the drugs [antidepressants] anymore, but I’m frightened I will have to. I’m terrified I will never really pull my life together.

In response, somewhere from within me, rises a now-familiar presence, offering me all the certainties I have always wished another person would say to me when I was troubled. This is what I find myself writing to myself on the page:

I’m here. I love you. I don’t care if you need to stay up crying all night long, I will stay with you. If you need the medication again, go ahead and take it- I will love you through that, as well. If you don’t need the medication, I will love you, too. There’s nothing you can ever do to lose my love. I will protect you until you die, and after your death I will still protect you. I am stronger than Depression and I am braver than Loneliness and nothing will ever exhaust me.”

This is her god, she explains. Loving her. Answering her. Protecting her.

So this morning, remembering all this, I closed my eyes. I quieted my mind. I asked God for help, and then I picked up a piece of paper and a pen. This is what I wrote:

I love you. I will take care of you. You will be okay. I will never leave you. You are strong, you will persevere. You are my child, my daughter, my beloved. I am always with you.

I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is my god. Loving me. Answering me. Protecting me. And I will be fine.

I was talking to someone yesterday about shame. Shame is a powerful, powerful thing. Once submitted to, it can control you, shrink you, morph you into someone unrecognizable. I have lived with shame for so long. I was ashamed of my depression, my cutting, my drug use, my promiscuity. Ashamed of being raped. Ashamed of failing at everything I tried to do. Embarrassed about marrying so young, and ashamed of letting the marriage fall apart. I felt imprisoned by my shame. Not only did it make me feel like an absolute shipwreck of a human being, but it prevented me from ever growing or evolving. Shame drowns you; it wraps its spindly fingers around your hair, pulling you down beneath the surface until you can’t breathe anymore. And if you don’t fight it, if you don’t kick and struggle and swim towards the light, the shame can eventually kill you.

But things are different for me now. I did fight it, and it doesn’t define me anymore. As I was explaining this to my friend, I started to think about our resilience as human beings, our ability to heal.

“Think about our bodies,” I told him. “If we cut our skin or break a bone, our bodies know exactly what to do. They send out the troops to stop the bleeding, grow new skin, reconnect the bones. And all of this takes place without any input from our brains. We don’t think to ourselves, ‘ok body, time to heal.’ It just happens. So think about it. If our bodies can do all of this completely without the direction of our conscious selves, imagine what our minds and our hearts are capable of.”

We’re amazing, us humans. My own resilience has astounded me on more than one occasion. My strength and persistence and will to survive, even at my deepest and darkest moments, is miraculous. And every time I overcome something big, like shame or guilt, I grow and become better. I am just that much stronger and able to deal with the next hurdle I encounter. I feel so blessed to be here on this earth, living in this body. I may hate my thighs, my eyelashes may not be quite as long as I wish they were, but my god. Look at me. I am a living, breathing, fighting, healing wonder. And I think that’s amazing.

I’m sorry I’ve been so absent lately, y’all, but I started school. I’m so tired all the time now. We’ve been in class for three weeks, and already we’ve learned so much. I can now shampoo you, give you a scalp treatment, give you a fabulous facial, put your hair up in any number of gorgeous up-do’s, wax you anywhere, analyze your hair and scalp, and give you a simple hair cut with shears or a razor. Busy busy busy. But I’m loving every minute of it, and the girls I’m in class with are all adorable and wonderful. I’ve made some great friends, and I’m just so happy. It feels great to be with people all day long, to be striving together to reach our goals. We’re focused, but we have so much fun. (The other day I was in a rush to get to class, and ended up parking up on the curb. When I left to go home there was a note on my windshield from someone at school that said, “Your parking is a little scary.” I love these people.) So yes. Busy. Happy. Not dead. I’ll try to post more soon!