Do you ever find yourself hungry for a “me too” kind of moment? When life, whatever it is, has gone off your tracks into something unexpected and foreign, something that feels a little scary and undoing. It’s the kind of moments that make you ask, “Have I got it all wrong?” or “How will it all be ok after this?”
My life this month has been a “me too” anthem: a chorus of moments when I’ve needed to know I’m not alone, but I’ve been hesitant to speak the truth and let others join me where I’m at.
Back in early February, my mother joked that I should give up control for Lent and allow more things to be and more parts of myself to slowly become.
A few days ago, driving on the freeway somewhere in East Grand Rapids, her words floated back to me and I laughed, “Silly! Like I could ever really give up control.”
Then it dawned on me, how out of control I really felt, how in need of others I really was. If Lent is about an absence that makes us hunger for the heart of God, then it has indeed come for my soul this year through spaces of lack and ache.
And seeing it clearly, I couldn’t bear the weight of it all alone.
So I started tenuously telling the story of my month: lingering relational patterns I use that damage people, new experiences I’ve felt ill equipped for, hurtful situations that have left me teary-eyed and a mess.
And I started to find, not everywhere, but in some wise and tender mentors, a chorus of “me too”s.
The stories began to flow that echoed so much of mine, and I let the words sink in deep as they said, “We’re with you.” I let my heart hold their blessing as they comforted with a “good for you” for seeking help.
I’m not feeling especially competent this March, but I am feeling connected and cared for. The care has come in different ways, from telephone conversations to coffee bar confessions to releasing laughter with wine on a comfy couch in a warmly lit room. All have been needed, all felt like a risk to begin with.
To those of you like me, scared to share what feels so bad, I wonder who might be waiting and eager to join in your messy life’s anthem with “me too.”
Katy Johnson lives, dreams, writes, and edits in a messy, watercolored world. She’s a 25 year old, discovering her hope, her longings, and the wild spaces in her own heart. Her favorite creative project right now is called The Someday Writings, and someday, she may let those writings see the light of day. For now, she shares her thoughts here.