Fine But Not Fine

“Fine but not fine.” The voice of two worlds.

When I’m hit with the overwhelming sense of what I lack in comparison to what is required of me, I take out my pen and write. Each time, I find myself in tears. I don’t like crying – it gives me headaches and leaves me exhausted. Yet I’ve found it’s in these times of honesty I discover the words to express that which has weighed me down for far too long, turning moments that once held me motionless into catalysts of freedom. But the brutality of honesty is its lack of concern for consequences, so saying yes to honesty is saying yes to something that might just ruin me.

I think we’re all at least a little bit scared of sadness. I’m well aware the words I’ve used to describe my own sound uncomfortably close to hopelessness. It’s quite largely the reason I’ve never addressed it. However, I also recognize it did not emerge from one outstanding event, but became from a lifetime of disregarding unacceptable emotion.

"Am I allowed to be sad? Is something wrong with me? Is my happiness fake? Am I just ungrateful? Do I not have enough faith? Is it just me?"

Coming face to face with sadness puts me face to face with these pre-conceived notions and fears, begging the question – where did I learn them?

The source may be quite telling of its results.

I propose sadness is the cry of something deeper in us knowing this is not how it is supposed to be. I am broken, wanting to be whole because I was made to be whole. Sadness should turn us to our Creator not only to find joy, but because of the realization that His version of the story is true: we live in part, facing things He never intended for us to experience. Until the promised day comes when every tear is wiped away, there will always be things that break our hearts because we deeply know they were never intended to be.

Sometimes, we’ll find those things inside ourselves.

As I’ve mentioned before, I face each sunrise completely unsure if I have enough to make it to its set. It’s why I have such a hard time laying myself down to sleep - the sooner I sleep the sooner tomorrow will come and I’m not so sure I can win again. I say this has me operating out of mercy because at this point, it’s my only option. I’ve reached a level of depletion that allows me the desperate yet freeing realization that my lack is so real, my voice echoes between the walls of an emptiness my abilities used to fill. Some might call this rock bottom, an infamously scary place to be. But what if rock bottom is not where people go to die but where they go to get recreated? Maybe we wouldn’t be so scared anymore.

It’s okay to recognize sadness for what it is and take the necessary steps to walk through it. It’s also okay to simultaneously be happy. I honestly don’t think I’ve laughed more in my life than I do now. It’s not a coverup. It’s a real place of joy that resides as deeply as my sadness. I don’t have to pick one and deny the other. The two can co-exist.

This is not granting sadness access to my identity, but it is acknowledging it as a reality I face and for too long have allowed to lay bricks for a home meant only to weigh me down. I write to shine a light on it, digging out one layer at a time, and believing I’ll find closeness with God in its ruins.

I cannot say with absolute certainty this is the right way to address it, but I do know that since I’ve exposed my sadness, I’m much less scared to go to sleep. Maybe sadness really is just the man behind the curtain; a powerless force made powerful by our own illusions.

In the meantime, please know I’m not looking for anyone to fix me. My words are not a last resort cry for help, but of a discovering you are more than welcomed to join. You never know what freedom you may find in the ruins of yourself.

“Don’t give up on me, don’t become too sad about me, but laugh with me, and try again with me, and I will with you, too.” – Ted Loder, Guerrilas of Grace