Maybe it was about breaking me, so something more honest could finally rise. Sometimes growth doesn't look like building-it looks like surrender. Like crumbling. Like being reintroduced to who you actually are.
I'm tired. Tired of the fearful version of myself. Tired of shrinking, second-guessing, over explaining, and spiritual bypassing. Tired of carrying an identity l've outgrown.
Maybe this break wasn't just about the conversation.
So I pray. I go to God for comfort, for clarity, for direction.
But if I'm honest, I'm not always sure what l'm praying for.
Do I even understand who I'm being when I pray? How can God bless someone I'm pretending to be? How can He guide me when I'm still hiding behind fear?
There's something about hearing what I want to hear that comforts me, even when it's not rooted in truth. In my effort to protect the version of myself I've always known, I end up defending the part of me that has caused the most harm.
After the break, the rumination sets in. I find myself going back over the words, replaying the moments, wondering what I could've done differently. I wrestle with guilt over the time I stayed too long, the silence I held, the damage I may have caused-intentionally or not.
I recently had a hard conversation. And part of facing hard conversations is recognizing that something-some system, some story-has to break. Not all systems are meant to last. Some need to be broken. And that breaking? It can be holy. It can be the beginning of healing.