I'm Fine

Learning to be okay with being okay.

My dear brothers and sisters,

For the majority of my life, from childhood to now, I have rarely been okay.

I mean, on the outside it has looked like I’ve mostly been great. And in a lot of ways, that’s true. I’ve accomplished a lot. I’m doing work that I absolutely love. I have been blessed with a strong marriage, wonderful sons, a host of fantastic friends near and far, and a long list of amazing experiences.

Yet internally, most of my life I’ve not felt entirely okay. Thanks to a childhood and adolescence of complex trauma, there has always been a part of me that has been on alert, vigilant, rarely able to completely rest and relax. In my adult years, this has manifested as a near-constant undercurrent of anxiety, sometimes ramping up and then crashing into depression.

All the drivenness, the striving, and the achievements served as a mask and compensation for this undercurrent. If I did enough, if I was perfect enough, if I took care of everything—at home, at work, in my relationships—I would might be okay. As a child and a teen living in a home with two mentally ill parents,¹ this was emotional reality. As I grew into adulthood, my religious stream celebrated and encouraged all of my Christian achievement and fruitful ministry and victorious living.

Health issues such as a thyroid disorder, IBS, and peri/menopause didn’t help. Neither did serving as a ministry leader and a pastor’s wife, which brought me into frequent and close contact with others’ woundedness and my own inadequacy. But whether due to individual cause or confluence, the bottom line is that I’ve almost always felt I should do more and be better.

Until.

Until my body and brain crashed hard and left me barely able to get off the couch for several months.

Until I did all I could in an important relationship and it wasn’t enough, and I had to let go.

Until I recognized and named the impact of the verbal, emotional, spiritual, and sexual trauma I’ve experienced.

Until I started (painfully) letting go of my underlying narrative that “everything depends on me,” and began (slowly) adjusting my life accordingly.

Until I submitted to community and began to let myself be the cared-for, instead of the carer.

Until I began to feel periods of deep calm and contentment—feeling fine—thanks to multiple therapies.

Until I began to fully realize the truth of my belovedness in Christ just for being human.

And then I realized that I don’t need to be perfect or great or even good all the time, either externally or internally. “Fine” was good enough. In fact, “fine” is perfectly great.

So, I’m learning to be fine. To be okay with being okay. To live with no crises or anxiety, nothing to achieve, nothing to fix, and nothing to prove. I must say, it’s a new and rather unfamiliar, even uncomfortable, feeling for me. Some people, I’m told, don’t feel the constant undercurrent, the constant vigilance, the constant inadequacy. I wonder how they do it. And then I remember, again, that I don’t need to do anything.

Because I’m fine.

Peace,

Angie

Photo by Jorge Vasconez on Unsplash

1. I was adopted at birth into a family with two (undiagnosed) mentally ill parents: a mother who was a textbook narcissistic borderline, and a father who likely has schizoid personality disorder.