What I wish I could tell myself one year ago

That time I wanted to end my life

I know what it’s like to fight with the deepest, grittiest Strength inside you not to end your life.

That wasn’t a typo- I capitalized strength in this context because He is a person. I had help outside of myself, and yet strangely, within myself. He was there, at the very bottom, in it with me.

I had just been through a traumatic broken engagement, halfway moved up to the town where my no-longer-fiancé lived, and suddenly had to move my whole life back into my parents’ house, because I had nowhere else to go.

For me, it felt like the end of everything. Though there are much worse things that could have happened to me, it felt like the absolute worst thing in the world that could have happened. The end of a relationship, the end of dreams and hopes of a life together, and the temporary end of my independence. A few months later I also left my job at a non-profit ministry because my mental health would not allow me to continue. So it was also the end of my dream to build a new role within that ministry to travel, speak and raise funds full-time on behalf of the vulnerable community we served, a role I had poured myself into and sacrificed to create.

It felt like the death of me, and in some ways, it was. A chaotic re-placement into fully-aliveness. It felt like a demolition. It was actually a renovation, a re-birth, a new beginning. Sometimes the house has to be gutted so it can be rebuilt. If the foundation is crooked, there is only one way to fix it.

Of course I couldn’t see it that way at the time. All those nice-sounding words about new beginnings sounds terribly cliché to someone still walking through the fire.

If I could go back and tell myself anything, this is what I would say.

To little Alexandria one year ago:

Oh my dear, wounded friend.

I know this feels like your worst nightmare. Something you never would have expected in a million years to walk through. And yet, here you are. This was not the story you had in mind for your life.

I know it feels like hell is sitting on your chest when you wake up every morning and your body feels like a big ball of fiery pain. It feels like your heart will bleed out, and you can’t cry enough tears.

I know it feels like you are suffocating under grief and anxiety so thick you don’t want to live anymore. You are scrambling for some sense of control because you think it will make you feel safe. You can’t read the Bible right now because it triggers panic attacks, and you aren’t sure if you can trust Jesus anymore. You don’t know if God is actually good.

I want you to know that I see you. And I fully accept you right where you are. It’s okay to feel this way. It’s okay to have doubts and questions. But here’s the truth: this is just one chapter. This is not your life. It will not always be this way.

I’m so sorry it had to happen this way. This didn’t happen because you “deserved” it. God is not punishing you, or testing you to see how much suffering you’re willing to walk through for Him. It will certainly be a test of faith, but not in the way you think. This is for your strengthening, not your shame.

You needed things to fall apart. It has nothing to do with your worthiness, or your love-ability. That has always been intact, and always will be. You were created to be loved, and that will never change.

There were deep-rooted lies embedded in your heart and infecting your mind, that you could not see. They had to be torn out, so that you could walk authentically in wholeness. This is the brutal kindness of God. He is relentlessly devoted to making you whole. He is in it for the long haul with you, and He isn’t going to give up.

You are being so gently held in the palm of your Father. He weeps with you. He is not angry with you. He is angry at the abuse with you.

You, seething with rage and drowning in tears, are the one He tenderly cradles in his arms. You, swearing at Him and screaming your lungs out and beating His chest. You are the one He has compassion on, the one with whom he shares his friendship. You were always safe with Him, and you always will be.

Though the obsessive tormenting thoughts, the mental abuse Darkness taught you to inflict on yourself, seems like it will never end, Abba is about to teach you what real rest is.

Those nights you are triggered out of your mind, when you feel crazy and dissociated, He is the one who puts the name of that friend in your mind at 1am because He knows she is awake. He knows she will listen to you, pray with you and stay on the phone with you until you are calm enough to sleep. He is the one who stands between you and yourself, preventing you from harming and abusing your body. He is the one who grounds you, who leads you back to your breath, who meets you outside in the shade of the willow tree while watching your puppy play. He is the One who leads you to explore possibilities with paint and canvas, so that your emotions have a productive path to release.

You will later learn that the way your brain is reacting, which causes you to feel crazy, is actually your brain trying to protect you. It wants to shield you from the immense amount of trauma that has been stored in your body for years. The intrusive thoughts are just your brain’s way of trying to control what is happening inside you, a way of attempting to understand it.

In time, you will learn to unclench your fists, loosen your jaw, and let go. You will learn that it’s okay to be this vulnerable and raw. It’s okay to not be in control. You will learn to feel safe in your body again. And that safety in your body will become the connection point to re-orient yourself to the love of God. God is about to bring you in contact with some amazing people and resources that will help you understand what’s going on inside you, who will hold space for you and allow you to feel your emotions in their presence.

You will soon realize that this is who God is- He meets you at the point of your current being, not where you think you’re supposed to be. Abba never forces you to do or feel anything. He does not control you. God is not your ex-fiancé, and will never treat you like he did at the end.

It will be a long journey, a winding road to healing and recovery. You have been shattered. So give yourself time and grace. Your healing will not happen overnight. You will be in mental and emotional rehabilitation for a while. But in that place, you will encounter the love of the Father in the most tender, intimate way you’ve ever experienced.

This tragedy will be your great awakening. You are about to enter into the sprouting, and then the flowering. But first, you are the seed breaking in the ground.

Wholeness does not mean you are never broken. It means you are constantly connected to the only One who can put you back together. You cannot be your own healer. Only Love Himself can make you whole: body, soul and spirit. And yet, you get to participate in your own healing.

Make friends with your pain and let it teach you who God really is.

My dear past self, I am SO proud of you for allowing yourself to feel those tough emotions, and for dragging your heart to Jesus over and over again even when it felt like He was the one who hurt you. You didn’t give up. You will look back one year later and be in awe. You will hardly be able to believe how far He has brought you in such a short time. You will be excited about life again. You will give up trying so hard. You will dream again. You will trust again. You will see yourself and God in a new way that you couldn’t have seen before you walked through the pain.

And I promise, it will be worth it.

Cheering you on,

Future Alexandria

If I had been able to read that letter from future me one year ago, I probably would have given myself much more grace and compassion. The process of letting go of what I thought my life should look like would have been a bit easier.

Though I did not have that letter, I had Jesus, my family, my therapist, and a few close friends. And that was enough. But for anyone who is going through a season like this and doesn’t have a good support system like I did: I hope this letter gives you a shot of hope and brings comfort to your soul. May this letter be a sign to you that you are allowed to have compassion for yourself right where you are. I hope that you treat your heart with gentleness and kindness as you walk through whatever pain you are experiencing. You are worth it.