It feels so strange, almost foreign, to be on such a blogging roll lately....as opposed to the stretch of April-May which felt particularly dry and empty.

  I'm sure it feels weird to you too, "Why is she blogging SO much? Doesn't she have anything better to do?!"  And I don't really know why either.  Trust me, I still have laundry and kids and berry picking and so on and so forth, so I'm not even sure where I'm finding the extra time.  I mean, I know why I didn't blog much before, but I'm not sure why it's all gushing forth like Old Faithful now.  I know that general busy-ness was a big part of the reason for the lack of blogging earlier, but...if I'm honest, an even bigger part was due to something much more.

   I went through a really low, dark time this spring and it's not something I hope to revisit any time soon.  And I am not writing this for pity, truly.  I'm not even sure why I am writing about it.  Maybe because I just finally feel like I can write about it, and so I do, because that's kind of what I do.  I write.  It's the way I process things, the way I make sense out of the hopeless jumble that is also known as my head.
 
   Sometimes when I haven't written for a really long time, it starts to feel like everything inside of me that needs to be written about is trying to escape. And I'm never sure when or how that will take form, and so that's a little scary.  It also feels like it wants to eat me.  And that's not a great feeling so.......I write.

   So take it for what you will, or even better, take it for nothing at all but just what it is.  Things are not always as they appear.  People who seem really happy are not always just that.  Sometimes the most confidant of characters, is the one shrinking daily underneath the Mount Everest of their insecurities until it threatens to swallow them whole.

I once confided in a friend a little bit about my insecurities.

   Not the deepest, darkest, completely-freak-you-out stuff, but just the surfacey stuff.  And even THAT surprised her.  She could not hardly believe that I would ever struggle with insecurity.  And it left me feeling even more hopeless than before.

   I was left wondering....why?  Why do I seem impervious to that particular struggle?  What is it about me that makes people (wrongly) assume that I wouldn't battle insecurity as ferociously as the next person?  Is it because I'm outgoing?  Because I talk a lot?  Because I blog?

*Silently curses for being extroverted*

   I'm not even entirely sure I AM extroverted.  But I supposed by most definitions I am.  But that doesn't mean I always like it.  It boxes you in, and shuts you up tight in a narrow definition of what everyone assumes you to be.....happy, bubbly, confidant, secure.  Always sure of who you are and where you are going, and how exactly to get there.  Living the life you've always dreamed of and perhaps even a little bit more.

   Is that really the way it seems?  Just because my personality is outgoing, it makes it seem as if I am invincible to pain?  Struggle?  Loneliness? Jealousy? Fear? Comparison?

Spoiler alert:  I'M NOT.

    Sometimes I feel as if extroverts suffer more than anyone, because they have that much more to lose.  By constantly placing themselves out there and extending themselves to other people, they greatly benefit in the areas of communication and relationships, but they also experience great pain in miscommunication and broken relationships.

   Confidant people are not infallible.  They fall just as hard, and just as often as anyone else, but they get back up again and try again.

   Sometimes I wish I wasn't who I am.  I wish I was more quiet, meek and mild.  Seen and not heard.  The type of girl who holds her tongue, and never finds herself at the center of a debate or discussion.  She keeps her opinions to herself, her tongue in check, and never finds herself desperately wishing she could eat her words, because they never leave in the first place.

  That person is liked by EVERYONE, because they never offend anyone.  That person is perceived as sweet as honey, delicate as a rose, and gentle as a fawn, because they never shout, trample, or grasp.  They never barge.  They never protest.  They never......anything.

And I find myself wishing......desperately and achingly.....to be more like that.  If only I wasn't me!

   But I'm not.  Oh, I'm far from that.  And I know some women who are just what I described and more, and nothing makes me shrivel up into a pile of self-loathing quicker than being in their presence.  I just feel like a big, lumbering, oaf around them.  Not graceful enough, not dainty or tiny enough, not prim and proper enough, not domestic enough, not mild-mannered enough, not nurturing enough........everything about me just screams "TOO MUCH!"  Too much volume, too much opinion, too much restlessness in my bones.

Just too much of me.

   It was this, (and other things that I won't mention) that had me in a rather dark place.  Hence the lack of blogging.   When I find myself sinking down into that pit, I start to run out of air a little, and my writing dries up quicker than a wet towel on a hot July day, and I just have nothing left to offer.

   And while I can't say that those feelings/that struggle is all behind me, I CAN say that I am seeing some progress in the battle.  I am taking it day by day and step by step and at times when I feel it closing in all around me I just cry "Jesus."  I recite verses if I can think of any and if my brain is much too muddled for that, I sing.  And getting in the Word helps too.  And little by little, I climb back up out of that pit, (or rather, am pulled out) and I can begin to breathe again.

   And before I go, I feel I must mention this......back around the beginning of May, someone (an angel, really) took the time to email me, saying they thought I seemed depressed.  They then proceeded to share from their own experiences, and offer some of the most helpful tips for dealing with it I have ever come across.  I remember feeling so many simultaneous emotions when receiving that email.  Surprise, embarrassment, fear, and then.....relief.  At least I wasn't completely invisible.  Because I suppose I had gotten really good at hiding my truest self from all of those around me.  Well, except for Randy.  I can never really hide from him for long, and he knows more about me than anyone else ever will.  But this was from someone else.....someone who had an objective point of view and could share their learned advice and wisdom and.....it was just priceless.

   I am still not quite sure where I would be, had that person not taken the time to email me.  I hope that I would still be making progress, (thanks to God not giving up on me) but I'm not sure if I would be so honest with myself today, or if I would be at all brave enough to talk about it.  Well, I'm not quite sure if I'm brave yet, but I'm at least writing about it.

   And I write because I think that it thrives when we keep in it the shadows.  I think that's where it lives and breathes and grows, and I think that it shrivels up a bit when you bring it out into the light.  So, that's why I guess.

   Perhaps there is someone in your life that you are supposed to be that email Angel to.   Someone that you see going through a similar struggle that you yourself have faced, or someone dealing with someone you have a little experience with.  SPEAK UP.  You have no idea of the lifesaver you may be tossing out with your words.  It may be coming at a moment when they would not even be able to ask for help, or even know that they should be asking, and that is the beauty of you just offering.

  And one last thing....