Be strong.  Chin up.  Put on your big girl pants.  I’ve heard ‘em all, and I’ve said these lines, too.  And there is a time to suck it up and keep charging forward, to get the job done.  Life is hard, but what does pouting do?  Get up and do something about it.  I’ve lived by these words, and unfortunately, I’m paying a high price for it.

I’ve just experienced one of the biggest changes in my entire life: moving away from the home I’ve lived in my entire life to a town hours away with all new people, places and routine.  Yes, there were calls home and tears shed.  But for the most part, my approach was: lonely?  Do something about it.  Stressed out?  Get it done.  Overwhelmed?  Drink coffee or take a nap.  Sad?  Drink coffee and journal.  I had a solution for every problem, and that was the problem.  I felt like I had my life together, and on paper, I did.  I had a group of friends I’d recently met and clicked with in a snap.  We grabbed brunch and ice cream together.  We belted out Nelly lyrics in the car.  We giggled over awkward encounters with the gents—whether that was on their part or ours.  I’d also plugged into a church and invested in their community.  I loved my schedule and new routines.  I sincerely thought I had it together; I believed it.

Until I came home for the holidays.  And that’s when it all fell apart.  I’d added these structures like community and routine to my life.  I was standing on these boxes, thinking I would be able to stand in the rain, the wind, the lightning.  I was a rock.  But here’s the thing: those boxes were hollow.  They supported me, but they were still weak, merely because they were new and still needed time to develop strong foundations.  I wish I would’ve known that before my foot slipped into the hollow darkness underneath.

Once I came home, I began to realize the incredible life change I’d just experienced.  I’d always known it was a big deal, but I was a big girl.  I could handle it.  I was more than capable, and I’d always been the girl who handled most things in life tactfully and with a head held high.  Life was spinning with change, but I was in control—at least I felt I was.

I was a boomerang, a rubber band who could bounce back from anything life threw at her.  But I snapped.  I’d been too resilient.  I hadn’t allowed myself to grieve the loneliness I kept sweeping underneath the rug.  Although out of breath, I kept running and sprinting towards—I’m not even sure to what.  Until I hit a wall.  At that moment, I acknowledged the brokenness but realized it went further than the bruise from the initial smack into the wall.

Resilience is praised.  And it should be.  But when the going gets tough and our lives begin to drag us across the gravel from a measly rope, resilience only creates friction and more pain.  I wish I would’ve given myself more credit and acknowledged the pain I kept ignoring.  Because it’s been six months since I’ve moved, and I feel like I’m just now beginning to process the hurt and loneliness from August.  I should’ve acknowledged my weakness.  I wish I wouldn’t have kept telling people I was thriving; I wish I hadn’t kept telling myself that I was thriving.  I thought, what’s the sense in being sad about having to start all new friendships from the beginning?  What’s the sense in being overwhelmed at having to start a completely new routine and way of life?  It was up to me to get my life together.  And if my life wasn’t together, that was entirely my fault.

Resilience may get you through lots in life, but many other times, it just drives a knife through your skin.  Focusing on the intensity of resilience helps you ignore the scars you’re putting into your own life.  I won’t go so far as to say I’ve wasted these six months, but had I chosen to acknowledge and identify the feelings I’d ignored, maybe they wouldn’t all be catching up with me now.

I like to get things done and right now.  I’m a very black and white Type A person.  Looking back on these past five months, I’ve realized I wanted to shortcut all the emotional and hard BS.  I thought I’d earned a Fast Pass because I’d prepared.  I already knew some people and had a good grasp on my new schedule.  But unfortunately, you can’t fast-forward through life whether you think you’re capable or not.

Indulging in the adventures awaiting you may mean pausing and resting.  While we may equate adventure to movement and progression, sometimes it means taking a chill pill and allowing yourself to be sad, tired, uncomfortable or less busy for a time.  Let yourself be still and not have everything figured out.  Sometimes “turning off” or denying your sadness creates more heartache for the future.  Life is hard, but don’t think that bumps and bruises mean a failed adventure.  Rest in the quiet, and take it all day by day.  It’s okay not be resilient all the time—it’s healthy.

Bises,

Kristin

{How do you allow yourself to slow down and not rush healing and growth?}