It's odd to pen a piece like this immediately after publishing one about pleasing God. But see this very post is about God. It's about the subconscious plight of letting God fight my battle. I tried to read all my inspirational posts. I tried to excuse myself from my utter desire to give up. But nothing helped. Nothing was good enough to curve my feeling of defeat. Nothing was worth it anymore.
I spent 7-months talking myself out of this decision. I told myself I was stronger than that. Yelled to myself that God made me for this. And convinced myself—time and time again—that God would pull me out of this. That He would do what's right. That in the palm of His hands would be the end of this battle. That in His hands would be my victory.
I've never been this exhausted. Never felt this depleted. All the words the world once offered me no longer meant anything. I spent 7-months reciting words that no longer provided comfort. 7-months of meaningless sentiments and empty promises. 7-months of expecting things to change. Of expecting some type of breakthrough. Of expecting this condition to get better. 7-months of fighting everyone, everything, even myself, with a hopeful heart of a better tomorrow. 7-months of pain in anticipation of healing. Of a future. Of God's promise.
7-months later and the same pain existed. I hadn't heard from Him. Hadn't seen Him. Barely experienced Him. God was working in the background when I wanted Him to be on the frontline. Have you ever had to fight a battle like that? It's like when you tell your parents you need help but they believe you're strong enough to push through. Why the hell does God think so highly of me?, I asked myself. He'd never leave me, I know. But over these last few months my sobs have drowned out the praise I used to keep myself lifted, and the pieces of my pain have spilled onto the space I used to pray. I couldn't figure out why I was in this battle, but I knew that if God wasn't going to take me out of it, then I would take myself out. I was going to exercise the only power I had and withdraw myself.
And that's exactly what I did. I removed myself from a 7-month battle that I never wanted to fight. A fight that I'm sure would've made me an even better woman, had I stuck it out. Had I been willing to set my limbs on fire and stay in this cave. But I couldn't, and I didn't. So I gave up my fight. Gave up my hope. Gave up everything I had; everything my fingertips were trying to clench onto. I put down every bit of armor still stuck to my body and threw the white flag. I surrendered. I gave up. I lost.
Yet, for some reason I feel more victorious now than I've felt in these last 7-months.
I'm learning that sometimes losing isn't all that bad. In fact, this loss liberated me. It set me free from a bondage I allowed to go on for too long. From guilt. From shame. From embarrassment. From hate. From anger. From uncertainty. From confusion.
Today I gave up on a 7-month battle. I ran out of endurance. Had no strength left. I had nothing to offer. The only thing left to take from me was the very bones that connected my infrastructure. I didn't fight for those bones at all. I pulled them apart myself and left them on the ground. I freed myself from the feeling of having to fight. And oddly enough, in doing so, I (finally) subconsciously gave the battle to God. Whatever He intends to do with it, He'll do. And, whatever level of defeat I have to stomach, I shall. Because I couldn't fight this battle any longer; I couldn't fight myself any longer. I could no longer battle my own well-being.
This freedom comes at the cost of defeat. But sometimes losing the battle is more rewarding than winning.
Perhaps, this is me winning.
