Two Years (When Healing Takes a Little Longer)

3 minute read.

I guess I assumed that time would bring about the change I wanted.

“Time heals all things.”

Isn’t that a thing?

“It just takes time.”

Maybe it does–maybe it’s just a lot longer than I expected.

It is painfully frustrating to live the same unwelcome thing over and over again: the anxiety, anger, and distrust that I couldn’t shake two years ago.

Somehow I thought knowing I had these tendencies—awareness—would be enough to keep it all at bay. Especially considering the bitter consequences it all has led to before.

It’s not.

And two years has done little to improve this.

So how am I supposed to find healing? When will I get better? Will I get better?

God heals. He is the source of healing. Although I think He can—and often does—use other people to facilitate healing. But for some reason it doesn’t always happen right away—or even after two years.

I’m not sure where the line is between ‘He allows it for a reason’ and ‘we get in our own way/have free will’.

Maybe I could be doing more to expedite the process.

There is a strange comfort in holding on to your wounds. It’s an excuse to act out, to hide away, to not give up bad habits that are hard to break.

It’s a little safer. It’s easier. Because opening yourself up to healing requires a receptivity and trust which we often would rather avoid.

There’s also the misconception that you can’t be hurt more than you already have been. So if you hold on to your hurt, it becomes a sort of barrier against further damage.

Not the most logical thing in the world, but humans rarely are.

The whole thing is just so risky. And it amazes me how people fail to understand that.

“It’ll be fine.” “Things will work out.” “Either way you’ll be okay.”

What, what.

That has not been my experience. And to me, thinking that way is naive bordering insane.

“You just have to trust God.”

If it were that easy don’t you think I would have done it already?

It’s like standing on the precipice of a cliff, looking down into the waters far, far below and people are urging you to just jump. Meanwhile you are covered in bruises and your arm remains mangled from the last time you tried the shenanigan.

No thanks.

It’s a terrible feeling. Trapped in fear–unable to distinguish between reality and what could be/has been.

Everything becomes a sign of danger, red flags appear everywhere I look, and deafening alarms are blaring–meanwhile everyone else is oblivious, urging me along and I have no idea if they are crazy or I am.

And I had hoped that this was past me now. I guess it was naive to think that a couple of years would have erased something so deeply rooted.

It’s discouraging, because I really don’t know if I will ever change. I don’t know if I will ever be capable of what I want to be capable of.

“I didn’t ask for the painful memories of my past–I don’t know why it’s the damn darkest ones that last.”

This week I was reminded to trust God’s healing process.

I’m not sure what other choice I have. I just worry about the damage I do in the meantime. I guess He must have accounted for that already; my overwhelming weakness and inability to fight this battle on my own.

He must know.

So I’m waiting. Because I can’t fix this. I can pray, I can learn, I can put forth effort (which is largely pitiable), but I cannot be the source of my own healing.

So I’ll stand on the precipice for now. Whether or not I’ll jump remains to be seen. But I know that if I am left to my own devices I will most likely walk away. Because it’s too hard. And it’s too scary. And the reality of past hurts are too much.

Therefore the only thing I can commit to at the moment is trying my best not to run away from the precarious edge of which I am almost unbearably terrified—and wait.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

CS Lewis, The Four Loves

I guess two years really isn’t that long, when you think about it.

This article was written by Restored team member, Miranda Henkel. It has been reposted with permission. It originally appeared on her blog, First Class Act.