Who's Got You Singing Again?
No matter how articulate or beautiful.
I resonated with this line because it reminded me of the version of myself from 4+ years ago whose hope had never been substantially tested. I spoke in platitudes that reflected my head knowledge, but not my core feelings or beliefs. It wasn’t that the things I shared or encouraged in myself and others were untrue, it’s just that they came from a flimsy foundation.
So much of the hope that I had in my early twenties was dependent on positive outcomes or positive reinforcement. It wasn’t true hope because it didn’t acknowledge what it looked like to have hope even when life is painful. It didn’t account for a hope that extended beyond circumstance and established itself in something deeper, more permanent, perhaps, if you share my faith, eternal.
It didn’t feel that way at the time, but the benefit of hindsight has made it clear.
I’ll give you an example that feels rather exposing, so be kind to me. It was easy for me to have a positive body image, whether or not my body reflected the characteristics that are generally deemed socially desirable, when I was energetic, physically active, and eating disproportionately nutritious food. The tired, slightly softer version of me whose body was used by someone else as a weapon against her, has had days where it feels difficult to stand much less go on a walk, and has craved foods that make me feel safe and cared for, paying less mind to their nutritional value.
It was easy for me to believe that my body had value when the external output matched what I believed to be ‘healthy’ or ‘positive’ behaviors. I had trust in my body because it supported the lifestyle that I envisioned. I felt hopeful that one day someone would find me attractive. It is much more difficult for me to believe that my body has value when those external outputs are challenged or nonexistent, when the hope dependent on outcomes and image is tested.
I was talking to someone about this recently and sharing that I sometimes feel like a fraud. Over the years, I’ve been such an advocate for having gratitude and compassion for our bodies. For respecting them and treating them well exactly as they are. And yet, when push comes to shove, it’s totally a struggle for me to live that out. She responded by saying that maybe that’s honest and maybe that makes me exactly the person who should be talking about this stuff. It’s easy to speak truth and hope. Anyone can do it. We see it all the time on social media from people whose life experience struggles to back up their claims. It can sound really lovely and beautiful. But without a firm foundation, it means nothing.
It’s a lot more difficult to act in truth and hope when those beliefs are confronted. I’m in the process of learning that hope isn’t always a feeling but a set of choices to invest in the good that lies ahead and to create space for the good and the bad simultaneously. What would it look like for me, and for you, to recognize the darkness fully and yet still pursue the light? Even further, what would it look like for us to be honest with those we trust most when we can’t see that light and to let them act in hope with us?
I was thinking about this this morning and reflecting on the past few weeks where I’ve felt hope bleed back into my life. My circumstances haven’t changed – the hurt still hurts, the brokenness is still broken, and the challenges still feel challenging. And yet, I can feel the tide start to turn.
Friends, I’m a bit of a closeted singer. I feel refreshed and soothed when I get to sing. The past couple of years, I’ve spent more time letting words wash over me than I have singing along with them. But last weekend, I sang. I couldn’t stop singing, really. And I let those words carry me forth as I danced around my room. I woke up with songs in my head, as I often do, but this time I played those songs and sang along with them.
I also cleaned my spaces and prepared them for the week ahead. I had lunch with a friend. I went for a walk down busy streets (twice!), something that has felt almost impossible since my body and privacy were violated, reduced to someone else’s sexual high.
I dared to dream again and talked business plans with my mom. I started thinking about where to travel next. I spent less money, which is significant because retail therapy is real. I read books. I watched movies. I rested, like intentionally, for maybe the first time in months (years?).
Did I also have a total meltdown about how I’ve wasted time and will never be young again? Yep, sure did. But as I’ve acknowledged, the path of hope is not always linear :)
Speaking of watching movies, I fell in literal love with the movie Love at First Sight on Netflix. I loved it for so many reasons, not the least of which was Ben Hardy’s decadent smile. However, of those many reasons, one of the aspects I appreciated most was the setup of the movie. The whole idea is that everything seems to be going wrong for the protagonist – she’s running late, misses her flight, has her plans interrupted and expectations challenged time and time again, and yet it is in that space that feels accidental, unintentional, or straight up wrong where the real purpose and beauty is. The love resides in the story she never intended to write. There’s something really powerful about that. And, in case you were wondering, yes, I have watched it three times in less than a week.
In all seriousness though, I have felt like the past three years of my life were accidental. That I was caught in some forgotten dumping ground of pain and misery. It has felt purposeless and vengeful. But as I think about hope alongside how God uses things for good, I wonder if my real story is just beginning. If this has been a training ground, preparing me to receive and enjoy the good while also navigating the inevitable bad that lies ahead, holding all the while to the truth that the best is yet to come. I wonder if the best story in my life is the one that has felt accidentally written.
I have more stories to tell about fear and dreams and patience and presence. I’m so tempted to sit and fill these pages with those stories now. But I won’t bore you. I’ll be back. For now, let’s call this, “Hope Part II,” and look forward together to what comes next.
I never intended for this blog to be so much of my own external processing, but I suppose that’s what it’s become. At least for the moment. I hope that it meets you where you are. I hope that it’s given you something worth reading or feeling or thinking. And, if not, I thank you anyway for spending your time with me. As always, I love to hear from you and for these words to simply be a conversation starter. So, reach out, say hey. I'm looking forward to it.
Xo,
Abbey
Titular Song: Who’s Got You Singing Again by PREP
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