So Long

I’ve never been an unrealistic person. I usually go into situations having already imagined the worst (shoutout to my anxiety disorder and chronic overthinking). But even with that mindset, the last two years have been something I never could’ve prepared for.

From unexpected medical challenges and diagnoses to the intense and complicated pregnancy and birth of our daughter to the painful ending of a season at my job and church—everything has felt like more than I could’ve imagined. Some of it in wonderful ways, like how our daughter is more perfect and lovely than we could’ve ever dreamed. And some of it in terrible ways, filled with painful endings and the shock of things not going how I’d hoped.

I’ve lived through hard things before, but the sheer pace and weight of these challenges have been hard to grasp.

Still, one truth has stayed consistent through it all: God is good. He sees us, He knows us, and everything will work out according to His plan. That doesn’t mean we’ll always like His plan, or even understand it. Honestly, there are still parts of our story from the last two years that I can’t make sense of. But I’ve come to feel at peace knowing I don’t have to know why. I may never know.

It would be a mercy for Him to show me the reason for my suffering—but I don’t expect it.

I came across a quote recently that said, “The day you plant the seed is not the day you eat the fruit.” And as someone with the patience of a toddler, I really struggle with that. I want things immediately. And if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s not knowing. Want to send Grace into a spiral? Withhold information from her.

Sure, I could probably trace that back to childhood trauma—there’s definitely something deeper there—but the truth is, I don’t like waiting. I don’t like not knowing why. Maybe that’s the point of all this: to trust that I don’t need to know why. To trust that I don’t have to fight every battle alone. To understand that being misunderstood doesn’t have to destroy me.

Learning that has been a long—and often painful—process.

This past year has, in some ways, ripped me wide open. And in other ways, it’s healed parts of me that had been wounded for a long time. It’s been a season where people made assumptions about who I was. A season where I wanted to scream, “You got it all wrong! Just let me explain!” A season where my character was questioned, where I couldn’t even speak for myself, and where I had to watch a place I loved become a place of pain.

In her most recent album The Tortured Poets Department, Taylor Swift (I know, I know—but stay with me) has a hauntingly upbeat song called So Long, London. It's about the end of her seven-year relationship, and how saying goodbye to him meant also saying goodbye to the city she loved. One lyric goes:

“And I'm just getting color back into my face

I'm just mad as hell 'cause I loved this place

For so long, London

Had a good run

A moment of warm sun

But I'm not the one

So long, London”

I wasn’t going through a relationship breakup, but it was a breakup of sorts. I was saying goodbye to a place I loved. A place I poured my heart and soul into. A place I truly believed still had more for me, and where I had more to offer.

Even though it was becoming increasingly toxic, I wasn’t ready to let it go. Because when you love something, sometimes you become blind to the circumstances. I thought if I just tried harder, if I became more of what was expected of me, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. Maybe I could make it work.

Spoiler alert: I couldn’t.

No matter how much I loved it or tried to mold myself into who they wanted, it wasn’t enough. It was a good run. It was a glimpse of time full of highs, full of love, and full of potential. But it was just that—a glimpse. And so, I had to say so long to a place I still love deeply.

And yeah—I was mad as hell. Sometimes, I still am. But I’m finally starting to get the color back in my face. I’m starting to accept that we don’t always get the answers. And that people are allowed to be wrong about us.

The dust is settling. The color is returning. And the truth that God is good—even when we can’t see it—and that people are allowed their opinions (even when they’re wrong) has brought a kind of peace. It's eased the sting of rejection and softened the sharpness of being misunderstood.

I’m not quite at the point where I can tell you confidently why we went through what we did. But I can see His hand in it. I can feel His grace. And most of all, I hear His voice, gently telling me to hand it all over to Him.

And that, my friends, is enough for me.