I am not the only one who is healing, the only one who is being healed.
I’ve written about depression and anxiety in this little series. Learning to get over my crippling perfectionism, let myself be loved, give myself permission to fail, and breathe deep. We read to know that we are not alone, somebody smart said once.
It’s a funny paradox, this writing: the more specifically I write about me, the more likely you are to see you in it, too. Your white-knuckled grasp on things, your empty hands, your tears cried in the shower. I try to write beautiful, and I try to write brave. So that you can know that you are not alone.
I am not the only one, either. Our Friend the Internet has introduced me to several writers, who are writing their way to healing, too. Healing from cynicism, from disordered eating, from abuse, from infidelity.
So click over and find some new companions in the journey, some more people who write beautiful and write brave.
In Which I Am Practicing | Sarah Bessey writes about how she has practiced cynicism for so long–and how she’s learning to practice love and grace.
Look at me, clumsy, and learning to practice goodness and truth, like scales all over again, it’s like I’m born again. I want to practice gentleness and beauty, over and over again, until my fingers find the keys without thought.
More Than You Can Handle | Addie Zierman is one of the best writers of the Internet, taking evangelical cliches and catchphrases and riffing on them, creating beautiful essays that reflect God without the cliche. In this one, she writes about the phrase “God will not give you more than you can handle.”
And it’s not that we don’t believe it, that statement. We’re laughing because it’s such a wildly inappropriate, overused phrase. It is the period meant to end the run-on sentence of another person’s pain. It’s the thing we say to each other when we don’t know what to say.
When Being Quiet Can Kill | I’ve just discovered Emily Wierenga, who has written a book about recovery from anorexia. This beautiful piece talks about beauty and the body, which cries out to be celebrated.
I am learning to celebrate my children in the same way I celebrate a piece of art. I do not fear the beauty found in a sunrise, in mountains, in a cathedral, in a Van Gogh. It’s a beauty that points to a gracious and loving God. So why, then, should I fear it in the flesh?
My Love Songs | Amber Haines writes a series of “love songs,” about her marriage, both the good and the ugly. It’s prose, but it is spare and oblique, like the best poems.
We are small people. We are two drops in mercy sea, and we love like we have brand new skin. Let us never grow old. Let us hear the other breathe. Let me call your depravity my own. Let us stay at sea. Let us call this unity – the two becoming small, new, kindled, one.
This post is part of a series, 31 Days of Healing. Check out Day 1 or the complete list of posts. If you want to follow along, you can also subscribe by email or subscribe in a feed reader. Or “like” the blog on Facebook. (We’re all about options here.) And thanks for reading!