I get a ton of messages like this:
“I screwed up real bad this time.”
“I don’t know what happened, I fell again.”
“I keep messing up and I’m numb to myself.”
“I can’t ever get back to how it used to be.”
“Please help, I can’t get past this.”
“I’ll always be stuck. I will never move forward.”
I read each message two or three times, top to bottom and as slowly as possible. I try to reply to every single one, but there are so many and so heartbreaking that it gets overwhelming. Even now, I’m shaking from the emotional overload of such honest, busted up hearts.
Here’s the thing. If you even cared to reach out to ask for help, that’s an amazing first step in the right direction. To those who say, “It bothers me that I don’t care anymore,” the fact that you’re bothered about not caring means that you care. If you’re compelled towards the tiniest shred of honesty about your issue, this is worth celebrating. Really.
It’s because you’re getting to the end of yourself. You tried it your way and you’re seeing it doesn’t work. You’re owning up to it. You’ve stopped blaming others or your city or your job or the house you grew up in. No one wants to get humbled the hard way, but it’s happened: you’re now able to say, “It’s me, I’m the problem, and I want this to change.”
This is nothing short of a supernatural miracle.