Giving Up Control & Choosing Presence

 

A photographic depiction of 2020

I've gone off the grid a little bit this year and I want to share some of my story with you all. I own that the following paragraphs consist of me sharing my experience and perspective. They do not take away from or negate anybody else's unique experience during this incredibly difficult year. I know how much I have to be grateful for. At the same time, I don't want to hide away the hard stuff. 

I knew at the beginning of this year that it was going to be a period of transition for me. I was graduating with my master's degree, moving on from a job I'd loved with all of my heart, and entering into the great unknown to figure out my next steps. I felt like God was telling me to focus on relinquishing control and being present. Two things that are very, VERY difficult for me. In light of this, I chose "Ride the Wave" as my mantra for the year. 

You can take the girl out of California, but you can't take the California out of the girl. 

I had no idea that this journey of being present and giving up control would lead me to walk away from social media, demote my phone's status in my life, re-structure my schedule to make room for the things that matter most, say no to logical job opportunities in search of something more, and begin embracing that this season of question marks isn't just a transition between what was and what is to be, but rather a rich and valuable time in itself. 

I'll start from the beginning. In early March, I was in a small group discussion during which I realized just how much I cling to control in my life. I won't go into the details of why the need for control has such a tight grip on me in this post, but just know that I've had a long history of experiences and personality traits that have led me to seek control above all else. 

When I came home, I broke down and through sheets of tears cried to my mom about how exhausting it is to always be trying to control everything around me. I just wanted to completely surrender it to God and let him steer the ship. Just a couple of days after this conversation, the pandemic hit. 

At the beginning of the pandemic, I honestly felt pretty ok. I had my ups and downs like the rest of us, but I'm not one to get lost in the "what ifs" so I just plugged along, grateful to have the opportunity to work and do school from home.

However, in time, more headlines started to come out about the impact of COVID on people with chronic or underlying health conditions. These headlines were confusing and scary. I was appalled by the media's complete disregard for trauma-informed reporting. I felt threatened and afraid. 

I became irritated with friends posting seemingly hypocritical posts on social media - using their Insta stories to virtually shout at people to wear a mask one day and then posting a picture of them maskless-ly hugging their five closest friends the next. 

Everything felt like it was spiraling out of my control. I felt vulnerable. I hate feeling vulnerable. 

I have never let the fact that I have Type 1 Diabetes impact how I live my life or consume too much of my identity, but this time I had to confront the fact that I am different. While others my age have been able to cautiously proceed through this pandemic, occasionally seeing their people or spending time in public spaces, I have had to stay isolated from the world. I'm fortunate that I've been able to spend non-socially-distanced time with the family that I live with and two close friends who also isolated, but it's been lonely.

As headlines and rhetoric around chronic illnesses and COVID continued to pour in, I started to feel fragile. I realized that I had been traumatized - traumatized by this pandemic, traumatized by the fear of death, traumatized by vulnerability, traumatized by being different. Every time I saw someone online breaking protocol I felt afraid for my life. I cried often. I still do. This is no way to live. 

In the midst of this, I watched as racial injustice in this country was highlighted once again. I navigated my own personal heartbreak while also mourning for my friends and family. 

What you may or may not know about me is that I'm a deeply empathetic person. When my brother was in middle school (I was probably a sophomore in high school at the time), he shared that a kid in his class had just lost their mom. I burst into tears as if it had been my own mother who had died. I mourned so deeply for that boy and what he must be going through. 

Some may consider this beautiful or noble or whatever else. I consider it unhealthy. 

All I saw during this time was people yelling at each other and trying to outperform others to prove that they were the least racist of all. I saw videos circulating of tragic deaths wondering, "Who on earth ever decided it was appropriate to mass circulate someone's last moments?" I felt consumed in grief and couldn't take it anymore. The endless finger-pointing and savioristic banter pushed me over the edge. We all have so very little without humility.

With this in mind, I learned through the second wave of the BLM movement that social media was not the place for me. I cannot absorb the weight of the world's problems. I can only be responsible for the people in my life, my own sphere of influence, and my own personal calls to action. 

To add fuel to the fire, it was also during this time that my family faced a tragic and unexpected loss (I won't go into that here) and I navigated the mounting uncertainty of the future. This confusion and unknown has led me to feel depressed, unmotivated, confused, and challenged. 

I've compared myself to others frequently wondering why they are able to navigate so seamlessly into their next stage of life while I feel like I'm at a total personal and professional standstill. I know that good is coming. I just don't know what it is yet. For someone like me who thrives off of a packed work schedule, consistent plans, and does not like rest, processing through this has been difficult. 

During all of this pain, God has met me. 

I signed up for a year-long course in July and the theme for the first month was being present... how convenient. The guest speaker talked about her struggle with grief and learning to be present through it. She learned to put her phone away, say goodbye to distractions, and really focus on what matters in her life - her real relationship with Jesus, her real friends, her real family, and her real environment. 

She talked about flipping FOMO to fear missing out on our own life, instead of fearing missing out on other people's curated experiences. 

I felt seen and heard and encouraged and inspired. I happened to be taking a ten-day trip to help one of the friends I mentioned earlier move, so I committed to not going on social media during that time. Those ten days turned into a month before I could even stomach returning to platforms that had once been meaningful to me. 

When I logged back on, it suddenly became clear that social media had never satisfied me and would never satisfy me. 

It struck me how siloed and argumentative people had become, succumbing to an endless cycle of confirmation bias and using verbiage and conversational styles not unlike those we so harshly criticized in the first presidential debate. We didn't realize that those two men had actually mirrored our own behaviors. 

I saw people convinced that their voice was the loudest and most important. My eyes opened to the fact that people were posting the same pictures with the same captions as they had the year prior, almost as if we were in some eternal Groundhog Day. 

I didn't notice these things through a judgemental eye, but through a convicting eye. I recognized that I had once been (and at times still was) an active participant in this. It was in those moments of reflection that I committed to only going back on social media for thirty minutes, one day a week. 

That choice has been a gift. 

It has freed me to make decisions based on what I actually like and value, not based on what I want others to perceive me as liking and valuing. 

It's allowed me to invest in real relationships - with God, with family, with friends. It's created space for me to put my phone away, not letting it consume my mornings or evenings (I even bought an actual alarm clock!). I've learned to make memories for myself and not anybody else. I've had eye-opening and productive conversations with people who think completely differently than I do on social and political topics. I've practiced boldness in turning down opportunities that made sense based on worldly standards but didn't make sense in my life right now. I've spent time writing and exploring how I want to live my life and what comes next. 

I've learned that I do not need to be anything for anyone else - I can live my life freely and differently. There are so many options for how to do live, why stick to what's already been done?

This time has humbled me and I'm so thankful for it. I can see God's work in my life and I know he is using this for good. 

But here's the thing: I don't want to end this post by wrapping it up in a neat little bow and skipping off into the sunset because that's not true of my life right now.

Though I see how the Spirit is moving in me and I'm incredibly grateful, I'm still very much in a season of struggle. Two days ago, I sobbed in the car after having a conversation with a friend that made me realize that not everyone sees or prioritizes young people with chronic illnesses. 

Earlier this week, I had to admit to myself once again that I couldn't meet a deadline for an independent project that I'm sort of trying to maybe work on and I felt like a failure for it. 

I've struggled with insomnia, experienced my first panic attack, and feared death like no other (even though by my faith I know I don't have to). I've spent countless mornings and nights beating myself up for all of the things I didn't accomplish but wanted to. I've felt unloved, unseen, disposable, and purpose-less. 

There have been so many beautiful and wonderful things that have happened this year. There have also been really hard and painful things. Life is not one or the other. But, I'm working on it. Joy is returning. I'm bringing people into my mess and letting them help me. I'm loosening my grip on control one day at a time. I'm trusting the Lord by practicing presence, patience, and gratitude. I'm riding the wave. 

I hope you will follow me along and even partner with me as I share pieces of my journey with you. If you want to engage in a dialogue based on this post or others, please text me, message me, or call. Whoever you are, wherever you are, I'd love to connect with you. 

Love,

Abbey