Sunday, Rallying Words Vol. 8

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Where do you go when you lose faith? 

Do you cry in the back of Ubers and hope that your driver doesn't notice? Do you end up on your knees praying for answers, begging for help? 

Does losing faith feel oddly similar to stripping yourself bare and standing in the cold, shivering? Because that's what it feels like to me. I stand in the middle of my metaphorical New York February even in the middle of June sometimes. My heart is ripped open and all that pours out are all the ways I need and all the ways I come up short. I am gray in a world of striking colors. 

Losing faith is oddly synomous with losing the ability to hold back tears and feelings and expectations. You're drowned during a season that you thought drought was upon you. It's unnerving, unsettling, and the most revealing of seasons. 

It calls you to ask who you are and what you're in this for. I'm in a difficult season in my own life, my Taylor Swift lyrical castle has crumbled and I'm left wondering which pieces I keep and which ones I'm best to move forward without. Last night's rain is working its way through my clothes as I sit on the front steps of my brother's home and wonder if this feels like losing faith, or if it's just faith's way of reminding me that, stripped bare, is the best way to remember that faith is all I'll ever need.

I'm 24, in love with a man, in love with my career, and in love with the life I'm creating from the one I've inherited and the one I've built. The ripples of memories are reflecting back to me from the puddles at my feet and the smell of the fire we kept going for hours last night seeps through the front door and into my open wounds. 

It heals. 

I notice the sweater that drapes off my shoulder - Tyler's favorite. I notice the ring on my right hand - my favorite present to myself. I notice the necklace that is tucked between my chest and the underwire of my bralette - my mom's favorite. I notice as the chorus spills into the second verse of one of my favorite fight songs, "Bad Days" by David Ramirez. And I remember how I once asked for a reckoning that tested me in the way I'm being tested now, because those are the moments you know your life is made up only of parts that you would go to war for. 

It heals. 

The dew from the night before will finish drying up by the time we back out of the driveway and hit the open road. The world will keep moving and I'll keep needing to exist in it. I'll keep sitting with my feelings on my friendships, and the jealousy that strikes when I think of others and their moms during the holiday season, and the reality that every moment brings me closer to my own humanity, my own mortality, and my own version of happiness that keeps my self-worth front and center. 

When I was 10 years old I learned that people die. When I fell in love at 23 I learned that realizing you're going to die one day only means something if it moves you closer to not being afraid to live.

It heals.