I’ve been lying to myself. For two and a half years, I’ve been lying to myself. Acting like everything is OK. Living as if past hurts were just that – past hurts. Somehow completely ignoring the current effects of what happened before. Avoiding and suppressing all thoughts that counteracted the idea that I’m OK. Justifying the actions that resulted from what was really going on inside. Never taking the time to address the real problem and what was actually taking place.

I’ve been punched in the face, though. Verbally knocked out of my self-deceit and back into reality. Forced to confront the fact that I’ve been so unnecessarily playing games with myself in order to avoid dealing with the harsh reality of my actual situation. I’ve been consistently and conveniently taking every step possible to not look myself in the eye. Because I knew at the exact moment that I had to stare myself down, I would see everything I’ve been so comfortably detouring around.

Fortunately, there are some rather incredible people in my life that understand the healing and freedom that comes from addressing the legitimate problems and struggles that I face. It’s because of them that I realized that not only was I playing myself, but I truly believed that somehow I was playing God. That somehow He had no idea that I was actually struggling. That somehow He couldn’t tell that when I said everything was alright, it really wasn’t. As if He hasn’t known me since before time began and couldn’t read through my façade quicker than I could put it on.

Yet I managed to live that way for multiple years. I spent two years believing that I didn’t have to approach God with my problems because He would just believe the same thing I had convinced myself of. Since I thought I had so skillfully made my way around having to work through my feelings, I figured I had also successfully manipulated God into believing that I had moved on. Never once taking a moment to acknowledge the fact that He knew, and knows, my problems better than I could ever begin to explain them.

And not only does He know what I internally battle, He’s also already defeated it.

I spent too much time believing that if I could convince everyone else that I was fine, then I would actually be fine. Even worse, the whole time I spent believing that, I was completely and blatantly ignoring the fact that all God wanted me to do was let Him in. All He wanted was for me to acknowledge my battle, surrender my fight over to Him, and live in the victory He so lovingly won for me.

But I couldn’t go there. I couldn’t risk the heartache that would take place by recognizing and admitting my struggle.

Honestly, sometimes I still can’t. Even through knowing the truth of all He’s done for me, even though I know that He will heal all that hurts and bring something so much better, I still find it difficult to approach the emotions that I bottled up and locked away for so long. They’re scary.

They terrify me because I can’t control them. In my current state, I can’t see that there will be healing through the pain. I don’t know what that healing looks like and I don’t know how to get there. So, how in the world am I supposed to unlock the vault, uncap the bottle and face all the struggles I bound up inside without having any clue what to do with them?

The simple answer? Faith. Believing that God has conquered my problems and has a beautiful promise of provision waiting on the other side.

The practical answer? Practicing that faith. Waking up every day, admitting I’m struggling, but then surrendering control of that struggle to God. Talking myself into a state of mind that tells me I can face what I fear, the same way I talked myself into believing that the problems went away when I locked them up. Having people I trust hold me accountable to my struggle and letting them into places that I don’t really want to go by myself.

Making the conscious choice to seek the joy that comes from knowing that Jesus has paid the ultimate price for me, even while standing face to face with what’s bringing me down. Because God has promised me more, and I'm determined to find it.