Roots.

I’m back…woah and it’s the same month. That’s new, ha. Now, if you’re just tuning in, you’ll want to start here and get the full picture.

For the rest of you, let’s get back to it. After I journaled the prayer from my last post, things started to get rough. I honestly forgot I had journaled those words. I forgot what I had asked my faithful Father to do. But He didn’t. He doesn’t forget requests like that.

My emotional state continued to decline and my physical health followed suit. I lost more weight than I had to really give and before I knew it, I felt like a skeleton. A skeleton who knew she needed to eat, but couldn’t. I felt humbled to dust; much like Job.

As I said in my last post, I found myself in my mother’s lap. Having anxiety about having anxiety. That anxiety keeping me from being able to eat. And the lack of eating giving me more anxiety.

I felt lost in a cycle that had no end. It was time. I picked up the business card that had been riding shotgun in my car for weeks. I dialed the number with fear piercing my body. “It’s anxiety”, I told the lady. And thus began my slow walk into the therapy world. At the same time, I was prescribed some meds.

Honestly, it felt like the meds only gave me nightmares, more anxiety and HORRIBLE sweating. But I stayed on them…knowing it was all a process.

I started a battle plan and named it Roots. Roots because there were, and still are, a lot of roots in my heart that don’t belong. They became weeds, choking the life, hope and promises of God out of me. Multiplying faster than I could ever deal with, they took over. They blocked every ray of sunshine until I didn’t want to breathe anymore…not that I could anyway.

Before long, the roots were being named. First up, PRIDE.

When I first started my journey of healing, I would get up at 5am and start walking. The meds kept me up and I couldn’t trust my mind to simply lay in bed. One morning, I crossed the street and turned right. I continued walking until 30 seconds later, a work van with the word PRIDE on the side passed me. I stopped dead in my tracks. Okay God, let’s talk about that.

Pride kept me from getting help for two years. It silenced me because I was scared I would be seen as less than. Pride made me think I was in control and responsible for saving people. HA! I’m not called to be a hero. I’m called to tell others about the one Hero.

The next root, one of the deepest, is SHAME.

The devil will do anything to keep you from knowing who you are in Christ. For me, shame was his biggest weapon. I had so many secrets of my past. Sin that held me prisoner for years. I had never named these sins. My closest community didn’t know. Only those from my past knew. I was scared to be judged. To be seen as fake and a liar.

But God. God gave me opportunity after opportunity to bring this shame to the light. And it couldn’t survive there. The chains were broken. Because of His resurrection power.

There are other roots. Some large, others small. The roots of doubt, not being enough, abandonment…they’re all there. But I don’t want to go any farther until I can talk a bit more about the root of shame.

Next time.

Standing free,

From Her Fortress