Don’t Save Me
It’s a few years ago… yet, I remember it like yesterday.
I am too tired to fight.
Still, I must.
My husband jokes, jump in and I'll save you.
We are out and about - perhaps at the zoo overlooking a large body of water.
And I almost respond, don’t.
I have just-barely survived another public bathroom episode where my daughter has let it all go - screaming at me for minutes-that-feel-like-hours. The search light in her mind is looking for something (anything) to be anxious about and today it is scouring our outing. “What can we focus on next,” the disorder says. And my soul, chewed to shreds, is weary.
Here I think of Matthew 11:28-30.
I also think of what it means to raise an anxious child. Her anger is often the only sign that OCD still lingers beneath the surface.
Her disease is invisible, though her dis-ease is not.
I am weary.
I am wondering how many years she'll need me in this capacity - to create healthy boundaries again and again so that no other human shouts "this is emotional abuse!" like I am inside.
I must protect her.
I must protect me.
I must protect others.
This is my mantra.
This is our life.
I am too tired to fight. And I am fighting, because of a supernatural strength I would have never known existed - except for this wild, wild ride.
Welcome to our world. A new website. A new blog post. A new season. A life only worth living because Jesus asked me to stay - and so, I do… and find joy here, come what may.
Come what may.
