My Personal Reflection of Week 2
So my second week was… a lot.
It started with one of those nights where everything just kind of fell apart. I said things I didn’t mean, shut down emotionally, and woke up the next morning feeling like I’d been hit by a truck made of shame. I didn’t even want to get out of bed. But I remembered this line—“Joy comes in the morning.” And even though I didn’t feel joyful, I figured maybe I could just show up. That was my win for the day: I showed up.
My brain was mush. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t finish a thought, couldn’t even remember what I was supposed to be doing. It was one of those executive dysfunction weeks where everything feels impossible. But instead of spiraling, I just said, “God, help.” That was it. No fancy prayer. Just that. And weirdly, it helped. I didn’t get everything done, but I didn’t hate myself for it either.
Midweek, I started leaning into little routines. I lit a candle. Made the same breakfast. Read one verse. It wasn’t groundbreaking, but it gave me something solid to hold onto. I used to think routines were boring or controlling, but now I see them as little acts of care. Like, “Hey, I’m still here. I’m still trying.”
Then came the numbness. I didn’t feel sad or happy—just nothing. And honestly, that scared me. I thought maybe I’d lost my connection to God or something. But then I remembered that even David had moments like that. So I just told God, “I don’t feel You today.” And I didn’t hear anything back, but I also didn’t feel alone. I think He was just sitting with me in it.
Later in the week, my inner critic got loud. Like, really loud. Telling me I’m too much, too messy, too late. I almost believed it. But then I looked in the mirror and said, “You’re allowed to be here. You’re allowed to heal.” It felt weird, but also kind of powerful. Like I was finally standing up for myself.
My thoughts were all over the place. I couldn’t stay on task, and I kept forgetting what I was doing. Normally, I’d beat myself up for that. But this time, I let myself wander. I ended up writing a poem, remembering something sweet from childhood, and praying in a way that felt natural. Maybe distraction isn’t always a bad thing. Maybe it’s just a different path.
And then the end of the week hit. I looked back on the week and realized—I’m still here. I didn’t quit. I didn’t disappear. I stayed. That’s huge. That’s holy. I even wrote myself a little note: “I’m proud of you.” Because surviving is no small thing. Reclaiming the light isn’t about being perfect. It’s about showing up, even when it’s hard.
So yeah… I showed up. And I’m still here.
