A Whole New Word
I try to refrain from anything resembling "New Year, New Me." That's probably why I simply refused to publish this blog post any earlier than the last week of January. As the whole world (or the people living in my time zone) rang in the new year, I didn't feel like a new person. The way I felt about myself would be better explained by Katy Perry:
"Do you ever feel, feel so paper-thin
Like a house of cards, one blow from caving in?"
(Yes. Yes, I have.)
"Do you ever feel already buried deep?
Six feet under screams, but no one seems to hear a thing"
(It's kinda scary the way you put this into an upbeat song, but yet. This is how I feel.)
Please forgive me if I don't include the first part about the plastic bag. This is because I've never really identified with said plastic bag. But to each their own, right? As the clock struck midnight, I was actually spiraling downwards to one of the lowest moments of my life. OK. Spiraling is probably not the best word for this. On fire and plummeting down to the depths of Hades is perhaps a more accurate description.
Safe to say, I didn't feel like a new me. Just a worn-out version of the old me.
Every year, I pick a word or a phrase to be my go-to. A word-mascot for the year. A mantra that's not a mantra. A reminder, an encouragement, a challenge, all wrapped into one word or one phrase. In the last couple of years, I've gone for phrases. This year, though, everything comes back to one word:
COURAGE
I never choose the words or the phrases because of some divine revelation. I think, to an extent, the word I end up picking is a prayer of sorts. In a way, I'm bracing myself for what life throws at me. And this word is a mast I'm tying myself to when the storm rages on, threatening to pull apart the ship.
On the first of January, I descended to the depths of hell. My counselor later asked me how I coped with it. I told her I cried a lot. I scribbled unintelligible words in my journal, hoping to God that they all make sense when I go back and read it later. And then I turned off my phone and went to bed. I was exhausted.
I woke up later that day, and I was still exhausted. The dark cloud was still there, ever-present like a loyal lapdog. I didn't really get out of bed until noon, and when I did, I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked horrendous. I looked as tired as I felt. I then said these words to myself:
"Courage, dear heart. Just a little bit of courage."
2021 wasn't the best of years. I went through a couple of experiences that my counselor labeled as trauma. One of them is the loss of the most important person in my life. I've never thought of myself as one who would go through trauma. I'm the strong one, remember? The one who isn't fazed by anything. I would always tell people, "I'm not made out of glass." But there I was, at the close of 2021, having gone through multiple traumas and coming out quite a bit worse for wear.
At the end of the year, I also made a huge decision about my career. I know, I know. People say that you're not supposed to make any big decisions while grieving (or otherwise traumatized). But, I talked to my close friends, mentors, people who I know are in a better emotional state than I am, and they all supported this decision. This might sound weird, but I felt a peace about the decision. It is a right decision in the midst of a sea of wrongs.
The first of this year finds me battling my own thoughts and anxieties, wrapping up a professional career in church ministries, and embarking on an endeavor that is so brand new I'm always afraid it's not going to work. So that moment in front of the mirror solidified my word.
COURAGE
With every mention of the word, every iteration in a conversation, every appearance it in a passage in a book, I'm infused with a little more courage. The word is in my thoughts as soon as I wake up, not knowing what is in store for me. At the end of the day, the word is in my heart, the only thing left after a vicious battle with anxiety. It's a one-word prayer, a cheer, a battle cry.
Courage!
Courage, dear heart.
No, there will be no "New Year, New Me." It's the same old battle-weary me, armor soiled with the evidence of war. It's me, seeing a quest laid before my eyes, excited yet plagued with doubt. I guide my steed to shuffle into the vast unknown with a little bit of courage in every step.