It’s kind of crazy the way life gets written, isn’t it?
We’re all walking around on this earth, fighting to make our voices heard; yet at the end of the day, we have very limited control over which cards we are dealt. Our lives are stitched together with joy and smiles, pain and heartbreak.
There’s a vast desert land between two different types of cultural norms. One end of the spectrum tells you to stuff all your hurt and baggage under the bed and pretend it doesn’t exist. The other end encourages you to spill all your emotions out to the world [particularly social media] and bask in the attention that your struggle gets you. Both ends crave to be known, yet leave us feeling empty and stuck.
Here’s the thing. Every struggle and every painful experience is important. All of it matters, and I’m not going to tell you otherwise. But no one else can bring the joy and smiles back into your life except you.
People can give you all the sympathy or advice in the world, and it still wouldn’t make a difference if you aren’t the one deciding that you’re ready to conquer the pain. Don’t get me wrong, conquering the pain doesn’t result in immediate joy.
Being a conquerer is a process, and it’s okay to feel sadness because of things that have happened to you.
This book I wrote tells the story of a girl who goes through hell on earth because of choices that weren’t her own. She watches the people she loves abandon her, and gets told to her face that she’s meaningless. Her trust is broken beyond the hope of repair. At least that’s what she believes, but I won’t spoil your read.
The story is all of ours. It shouts from the rooftops that life is messy, broken, and miserable. Until a beacon of hope shines its light on those pieces of our story that prove that someone does care. We may not see it while we’re in the midst of the pain, but once we can look back and see all the tiny nuggets of blessings buried under the rocks, things will start to seem a little brighter. But it’s only your choice to make, no one else’s.