Today is a sad day. Why? I have no idea.

Sometimes the chemicals in my head get jumbled and don’t like to party civilly together, think any of the bar fight scenes from "Roadhouse." Triggers come in all monstrosities, large or small, and are never timed the way I want them. They leave me feeling battered, lonely, an outsider, desperately clutching at my own emotions, trying to piece them back together in a somewhat recognizable form of me. They make me equivalent to the tiny work ant dragging a smidgen of sustenance, silently squealing not to be stepped on.

Let’s not dwell on that, it’s said. Let’s move triumph forward and embrace life, it’s cried. I try anxiously to clutch these words to my bosom and engrain them in my mind but they drop to the floor, pooling like the wine that fell from my fingers amongst the shards of glass.

I want desperately to let the constructive positivity break the spell. It doesn’t. The rip tide of negativity yanks it down and throws it back into the outskirts of my thoughts; burying it in the dark sand.

Enter BRAVERY. Enter the gallant, silent hero. Enter the only phenomenon that can speak to the demon. It patiently struggles to breathe, never ceases its efforts, whispering at first.

It can barely be heard above the slander reigning in my mind, but it’s there. It speaks of truth. It speaks of the times I’ve overcome the demon before. It speaks of the the simple act of smiling. It speaks of washing my hair. It speaks with radiating love, empowering the molecules and chemicals to realign every day. Always there. Always willing. Always bravery.

It had been a week since I'd walked away from a relationship with my best friend. It had dominated the better part of the last year.

The relationship was more than a little toxic, and it wrought a messy and mean break up. Being with him had meant sacrificing my friends and family, my ties to home, my career ambitions, and the freedom to acknowledge and praise God without being shamed for it. And now at the end of it, I was even more painfully alone. The gossip he spread in our aftermath had cost me whatever friends I thought I had left. 

I hadn’t eaten or slept well in a week. I was drinking constantly. I was deeply ashamed of who I was. My life didn’t have meaning anymore.

But I had still shown up to work — probably propped up by misery and booze alone. A lot of the past week had been a painful blur but I vividly remember at one point gazing down at the floor, acutely feeling solitude and the aching of my indefinitely hungover body. Somehow, out of nowhere, my head turned towards the divine for the first time in months. 

“Father,” I thought. “Help me!”

At first there was just more solitude. Then softly, I heard a voice in the back of my head. It was my own voice. 

“We could go home.” 

Whether it was my voice or God’s, it doesn’t really matter. I hadn’t heard either in a year. And yet, here they were. A bit of fear began to swell. But what about school? My job? What would the others think if I dropped everything and ran?

But greater than the fear was the shock. I had called for help and got an answer. I couldn’t ignore that. It took me fifteen minutes to pack. I called a classmate to tell them where I was going. I emailed my professors declaring “an unfortunate turn of events” had called me home early for fall break. Then I got in my car and drove 500 miles west. I drove for six hours, crying most of the way, feeling very much unworthy even to run. Then at the end of those 500 miles, I was home. 

It was dusk by the time I arrived. As I rolled into town, the stars were peeking out over the rocky foothills which the man I had “loved” always thought looked messy, and which I had always loved to explore as a girl. He had also always hated Edison lightbulbs. Tonight, the downtown streets of my home were gracefully illuminated by their soft glow.

He had also told me that my family didn’t want me anymore — that I had grown too apart from them, and that we disagreed on too many things. Yet, when I opened the front door to my parent’s house, I found four open arms, two dogs, a hot meal, and a freshly made bed. The crying stopped. 

It’s been six months now, and I still look back to that homecoming as the greatest turning point I’ve ever reached. Because of a rash decision made by a little voice in my head in an answer to a painful prayer, I got everything back.

In the weeks and months ahead, I’d improve my relationship with my family. I’d return to the church. I’d tend to my physical and mental health. I’d be given new and more loving friends. I’d never again feel shame over myself or my home. And it all began with the simple, little voice asking to be brought home, and the bravery to follow that voice.

“You can never go too far when you can come back home again” comes to mind. Sometimes we just have to brave enough to realize just that.

Foraging was such a joy-filled — almost empowering — experience. I didn't find a lot, just some sweet dried weeds and an abundance of pine, birch bark and pine cones. But, I also saw the most beautifully captivating fox. I've seen so many of them but I've never really seen one the way I did that one. You would never think of a fox as being a creature of great intellect but that lustrous red face looked at me with its big, round eyes. It was like I could see it thinking — wondering, even. It was one of those moments where it's as if time completely stops and it was so beautiful. But, most importantly, I think I found a little piece of myself out there. 

Something is stirring within my heart, it is crying out for something more. I find myself craving authenticity and depth as a new passion is arising. A passion to stop running from the past, to stop reasoning away the hardships and unfairness that arise from brokenness of this world. I want to fully embrace healing and to let freedom truly take root so that my heart can be filled once again with flowers of innocence and purity.

Why is it that we are so afraid of the beauty within us? It feels like everywhere I look I find myself face to face with darkness. The heartbeats of this generation are slowly becoming faint as they beat in time with the brokenness that surrounds us. Our voices are being drowned out by the masks we wear and the way we run from the brokenness and hide behind the world’s ideals of beauty and worth.

Yet we were never made to just exist, to wake up without a purpose. There is a love in our hearts that has been silenced, a compassion that is overlooked because it makes us feel uncomfortable with the way some things aren’t black and white. We crave depth and desire intimacy but yet so often we settle into routine and tie our hearts up with complacency because going through the motions so often feels familiar and safe. We bury our emotions and reason away the small tugs on our hearts that tell us life is so much more. Yet how can a heart truly grow and thrive if the only foundation it knows is a home built on fear and insecurities.

For so long I have struggled with not having a voice, without realizing it I let myself become a victim to silence. I let lies take root and put up protective walls. My heart began to grow faint and the beauty within faded into one with the world around me. Yet as I began to slowly start embracing my brokenness and was honest with the parts of my heart I had kept hidden for so long I began to realize that I had never truly been living and for so long had been breathing in stale air. I started to discover that there is a love that runs so much deeper then I can comprehend and behind all the walls I put up there is so much beauty to be uncovered. Flowers that were once hidden behind darkness, lies, self-hatred and insecurities began to thrive and to slowly but surely grow under the sunlight that had found a way into the depths of my soul.

Oh to be alive, to find myself no longer running away but instead realizing that no matter how painful healing is it is what my heart has been crying out for night after night. We are made for so much more; our voices were never meant to be hidden. There is a boldness and bravery that scares our generation because it means not looking away from the brokenness and being honest with our emotions as we begin to answer the tough questions.

For how brave is it to feel, to embrace the messiness of life. To let people see not only the present version of yourself but to allow them to see the scars you carry from the brokenness of this world. How beautiful is it to go deep in authenticity and to breathe in healing as you allow people to help you knock down walls of fear and to let them hold your hand as you process and dig up the weeds and overgrowth that have for so long hidden the beauty within. We were never made to wear masks, to hide behind perfection as we convince ourselves that we are alone. Your beauty was never meant to be hidden behind the way you portray yourself to others for your worth is so much more then just outward appearance.

It is time to be real, to be brave. For to be brave is to look at your past and the brokenness of this world and to realize that you have a voice and the power to walk forward into the light. To be brave is to allow yourself to feel, to cry, to be broken. It is realizing that you pain is legitimate and life hasn’t always treated you fairly, but to stand up for yourself and to choose to be seen. To be brave is to allow yourself to fly even if it is scary and you might fall, because no matter how comfortable the ground is you were never made to stand in complacency and fear no longer has the power to keep you rooted to the ground. Bravery is found in the way you acknowledge that you don’t have the answers and that some days are spent fighting anxiety and depression, for to be brave is to be real.

To be brave is to move past the lies that have bound you in silence and to take even one small step in forgiving those who wronged you and also in forgiving yourself. To be brave is to not let bitterness steal your joy and childlike wonder but rather to allow the brokenness to bring growth and freedom as you discover that this life is truly precious and you are meant for so much more. It is found in the way you choose to see the way the sky explodes into stars rather then to focus on the darkness around you, because you were made to be a light of hope and love.

It is time to stop standing on the shore as you watch the waves wash over your feet time and time again because you were made to run and dance in the freedom of Gods faithfulness and love. You were made to be brave and so even if your hand is shaking, pick up your pen and open a new page. Your past doesn’t define you and it is time to truly start thriving as you allow your heart to come alive.

I've been speaking up about issues that matter to me, even though I worry about my extended family's disapproval. But I cannot be a silent bystander anymore about supporting minority rights. It's been scary but it gets easier to speak up — and say what needs to be said.