As I contemplate what it’s like to have people who’re willing to just be present when you’re hurting, listen when you’re angry, calm you when you’re scared, and love you when you don’t love yourself, I paused. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve pulled further and further away from community, connecting and allowing anyone to know my deeper side. The side that is raw, unfiltered, and terrifying. No one’s going to want to help me carry my baggage. The Lord doesn’t want me to because He needs me to carry everyone else’s, right? I’m a Christian woman who’s supposed to pray, trust, and have faith that the Lord will hold on to my baggage for safekeeping. Why take that from the best baggage holder and give it to anyone else?

     My safe space is where I pile up all of the pain, hurt, anger, trauma, and fear. It’s where I can grieve alone, stay out of the light alone, and keep anyone from knowing how broken and bloody I feel daily. Just when there’s a person who’s willing to grab a corner of my mat and help lower me down to Jesus, they are taken away either by death, circumstance, location, or have pulled away from the faith. It’s like getting punched in the heart with everyone watching.

     I have to start all over again, picking up the few bits and pieces from my baggage that I let fall out for those people to help me carry. Why did I do it again? What was the lesson to be learned? I should’ve just helped them with their baggage so they could have a moment to breathe and maybe feel some relief. Maybe they’ll receive what the Lord wants to give them. Maybe their blessings will touch me without having to open my baggage. Maybe.

     Those who’ve seen through me, whether or not they realized it, scare me to the core because I cannot put on the performance that’s been running for decades. The ones who are aware of my performance have been able to help me work through my baggage and begin to search for those who will be willing to grab a corner of my mat. The ones who don’t realize what they’ve discovered are the most frightening because they’re the ones that God’s sent to whisper to me, to proclaim truth, to force me to break.

     To break is life-shattering, life-giving, and life-altering. To take a step towards them isn’t easy, pretty, or ideal. Refraining from building a wall to replace my performance takes a lot of energy. It takes a lot of energy not to dump my pain, trauma, fear, anger, and hurt all over them because, ironically, that’s also a defense mechanism. If I spill just enough of the crazy, then they’ll back away, and I’ll be able to stay out of the intimate relationships that I crave but am so gripped by fear that I’d rather not be vulnerable.

     Being vulnerable is like adding salt to the wound for me. Crying isn’t soothing, nor do I want to enjoy the release that so many people seem to have when they do. Being vulnerable is like showing up naked to a party. Everyone’s looking at you, laughing, pointing, and taking photos to laugh at later. Being vulnerable causes my anxiety to go through the roof, and I start to look for the exit. What if I chose the wrong person to take a corner of my mat? What if they want to use my baggage to hurt me more? What if they drop me before I can be lowered to Jesus? What if Jesus doesn’t want me to be lowered at all? It’s an endless cycle of unpacking, repacking, lowering, raising, cracking, and gluing.

     The Word of God speaks Truth. It speaks healing. It speaks love. And it speaks life into my broken heart so I can continue to put my faith in God’s plans for me and my story. He knows who will help lower me, sit with me, and love me while sitting at the feet of Jesus. Those are the truths I will cling to because I know that I am not alone, even though it seems like it. I will hold on to the promises of God. So. Should. You.