I Promise

For the past year, I have felt that I would never process some of the experiences from my time in Los Angeles. There were times when I thought the weight of the world would completely crush me. At these times, I often found myself crying over the phone to a loved one while sitting on my closet floor. I would cry at work and dry my tears behind the counter before I served the next customer. I would cry in class and breathe my way through it, praying that no one asked me what was wrong so I didn't have to try and hold back more sobs. I would cry in bed at night feeling completely alone and lost. I would cry over family holidays and while out shopping with my grandma. I would cry completely out of the blue while hugging my boyfriend. I would spend the morning after Thanksgiving crying over the things I should have been thankful for.

I shed a lot of tears this past year. Probably more than I have shed before now. And I hated it when people told me this before, but I realize now that it gets better. I want to write this to anyone who is grieving, for any reason. I am still learning what it means to work through loss, trauma, and grief without even knowing why I am experiencing those emotions. But I have learned one clear thing through the tears.

You feel like you'll be drowning in questions and hurt forever, that your broken heart for the world will never be put back together, and you'll be stuck reeling as you attempt to process it all. You feel like you couldn't possibly imagine a world this dark and twisted before, and yet you find yourself standing directly in the center of it all, just another part of the convoluted mess. You never asked to be here. And maybe you feel like you don't want your heart to get better, like apathy is the worst feeling you could possibly experience after knowing what you know, and that frustration and the drive to change the world will be the only exhausting but necessary feeling you will ever feel again.

I promise it is not. I promise it gets better. Moving on does not have to mean apathy. Processing your emotions does not have to mean you no longer care about the hard realities you are encountering. And to be completely honest with you, it is going to suck. A lot. You might feel like you are absolutely drowning in doubt and grief. You may find yourself one night sitting in the bathtub with your friends choking back tears and frustration over some food truck tacos. You may even find that the words you have been missing for the past year come tumbling out when your friend expresses some of the feelings you have come to know as your closest friends whether you wanted to or not.

But I promise you these pains do end. So let yourself feel the pain of the process and the confusion and the chaos of this world. Let yourself soak in every moment of what it means to be human in a broken world. Because you will learn how to carry it as He carries you through it. I promise.

Tears may stain your face and a truly aching heart may become the only feeling you do not question as reality. You may fill pages and pages and pages of journals with the anger and the despair and the discontentment caused by your entire faith being dismantled. When everything around you has become utterly deconstructed, you may find your formerly extroverted self wanting nothing more than time alone. You may continue to cry at work, this time over Disney soundtracks. You may sit up suddenly at night because you realize that this was the first time in a week you have been able to fall asleep without being on the verge of panic. You may learn that your greatest joy is actually your greatest loss but that your moment of most extreme sorrow has actually become joyful.

The worst cliche and the words you hated most to hear will become what ground you. They will become what makes life feel real again.

It gets better.

I promise.