Some days are really nice.
These days, I imagine not having to leave my bed with a good, new book that’s waiting to be read with my massive mug of warm vanilla coffee. These days, the only noises flowing from my phone are my beautiful voices of the likes of Ed Sheeran, James Bay, Noah Gundersen, even Harry Styles, rather than the awful vibrating or “Tweet” text-tone, it seems to do every other second. These days, I’m ready to immerse myself into a different world. A world where I’m ready to face my fears and stand up for what I believe in. A world where I’m ready to achieve my goals and not think about the consequences. A world where I’m ready to fall in love and be snuggling with my future beau whilst doing all of the things mentioned above.
These days, I’m so sure of my strengths and my talents that God has given me. That He’s created me to be beautiful, and kind, and patient, and witty. That He has clothed me with strength and dignity and that I can laugh at the days to come. These days, I’m so sure that I am fearfully and wonderfully made, and that He’s created my inmost being; He’s knit me in my mother’s womb. These days, I’m so sure that He cares for me so much that He’s already numbered the hairs on my head (not that I have much anyway), and that He would never leave me, nor foresake me.
These days are the days I aim for when I wake up in the morning. These days are the days where I feel as if I’m actually sane and that I have friends who love me and I just can’t stop laughing at every single thing I come across. These days are the days I want people to see and remember me for the rest of my days.
But these days fly by too quickly, and unfortunately, sometimes within the same sunlight, these days turn into those days.
Those days, my coffee gets too cold from my absent-minded brain forgetting it exists and I’m throwing an almost-full mug of watered-down, grounded-up beans away. Those days, the social silence from my phone helps me remember that people don’t choose to text me first, that I always have to make the first effort, but maybe I shouldn’t, because I don’t want to annoy others, because what if they’re doing something else far more important? Those days, I remember that I’ve put myself in this world, because I’m afraid.
Those days, I’m afraid people will never hear me, that they’d perpetually think I have nothing purposeful to say. Those days, I’m afraid I’ll fall behind, behind the plans and the diaries and the expectations laid upon me, or worse, that I’d be content with my monotonous life and that I’d never develop and grow. Those days, I’m afraid that I’ll never fall in love. At least, not in the way I want to and need to and that worries me.
Those days, I’m worried he won’t understand that I’d just need him to lay with me, with our fingers intertwined, and listen to me, while I confusingly spill my guts on why my heart feels empty and weird, even when he is adjacent to me. Those days, I’m worried he won’t understand how much I hate public displays of affection, but so desperately need to feel close, to feel warmth, to feel connected. Those days, I’m worried he won’t understand my need to be led closer to Christ, because I fall into those days way too often and I need his help and encouragement to reassure that I can be a wife, a mother, a Godly Proverbs 31 woman.
Those days, I feel pathetic and useless. Like my gifts are rubbish, like Captain America’s non-ability to fly or super strength without his shield. Like who needs somebody who is obsessively organised and who will remember practically everything you mention to her? Who needs the person who is addicted to a boy band and claims that they have changed her life, though she will never in a million years ever be known in their existance? Who needs the girl who will talk your ear off, in hopes that she’ll make you feel somewhat comfortable with her though the conversations are just a window to her soul, showcasing the words, “Love me. Be my friend. Hear what I’m trying to say underneath.” Those days, I feel perpetually small and like others can just smush me without thinking. Sometimes, though I know God never makes mistakes, God created one with me and that I’m just here to take up space. Space that somebody else can take up instead. Someone who’s happier than I am, who can love more than I can, who people want to be around constantly. Those days, I don’t understand how anybody can love me, how anybody can stand to be around me, how anybody can want to speak to me, much less the Creator of the whole universe. I don’t want God to get sick of me, like everybody else, and leave.
Those days are the days I can barely breathe, because I’d rather hide underneath my warm duvet than to deal with the callous chill that freezes my brain. Those days are the days I feel lonely and that I’ll remain forever lonely, because I’m too exhausted to try to connect with the fear of being cut off afterwards. Those days are the days I’m afraid people will see and remember me for the rest of my days.
Some days are really hard.