The Rugged Path That Led Me to Peace

If you've been my friend for a while and you've been gracious enough to read my blog (which I've been writing for eleven years at this point), you know that I've always been candid about my journey. You also know that I've written on this blog quite a lot over those eleven years and now all of that content is hidden from the public eye. (And if you're new around here, then...welcome. Hi, thank you for reading.)

I decided to take it all down last year after my journey took a wild turn last year. You can read about some of that journey in the post entitled "Surrender Before Victory?" that I wrote in December of 2020. 

Part of being candid on the internet is that it's ridiculously vulnerable. I probably should have been more scared of that than I was, but at the time I felt called to do it. I still feel called to write but now the story has changed and when I look back at what I documented over the years I now have the new perspective that comes with time--that good ol' 20/20 hindsight, right?

I'm turning thirty soon. I anguished over that for a long time. And not necessarily in the same way that some people do, I think? Not in a nostalgic, "oh, my twenties are over" or even a "wow, I am getting old" kind of way so much. It's so much more than that. I anguished because I was already weary. 

My twenties weren't fun. I had moments that were fun, but overall I will remember them as a decade of grief, illness, pain, sorrow, suffering, anxiety, depression, and...The Great Misdiagnosis. 

The Years That Were Stolen.

The Years That I Lost.

The Years That I Suffered.

And?

The Years I Gained Wisdom.

Pain is an excellent teacher, my friends. This much I know. I know it deep down in my bones. But my other great teacher is Jesus. He is my friend and constant companion who walked with me through all the pain and uncertainty. Every tear I cried, every sleepless, tossing-and-turning night. 

I've heard it said that, "your mess will become your message," and that every author or expert writes from a place of either research or lived experience. I have always known mine would be the latter. I will write candidly about the long, rugged path of the last decade in a book, and it's going to be a much different story than I thought even last year when I was trying so desperately to get the first draft completed. 

My pain will help someone. I know this. My years of pain will be written into a book that someday, someone else will hold in their hands and maybe they won't have to go through so much pain. Maybe she will feel seen. Maybe he will feel less alone. Maybe they won't get misdiagnosed. Maybe it wasn't all for nothing--because it never is in the Kingdom of God. I already know this to be true. I now possess wisdom and peace that he intended me to have--it was earned the hard way, and I have the scars to prove it.

But what are scars if not a reminder that we survived? Only survivors have scars. They are proof of healing.

The journey was rugged but I made it to this place, and I have peace about where I am now. 

I have the title and the subtitle of the new book now, just so you know, reader. 

It came to me today, out of the blue. Perhaps God whispered it in my ear or dropped it in my heart? I'm in no rush to write it immediately. After all, I'm starting back to college in about a week and a half and I'll be doing that for the next two years until I'm basically a dog whisperer (or, that's the dream). I'm not putting a timeline on it yet, but someday, it will be complete and it will be out in the world. 

Thank you for reading. May you come to find peace, too. 

Sincerely,

Haley