You’ve been sick for months, years even.
You were tested for this and that. Negative results. Positive results. Numbers too high or too low.
“Sometimes those elevated numbers don’t really mean anything,” the doctor says.
You know that’s not true. You know you’re sick and just getting worse day by day. If only someone would listen and then search for answers. The symptoms have to be connected, you realize. You’ve done your research. You’ve tried to “eat a healthy diet, exercise, and sleep.” It’s not working.
In Part 1 of What To Do When You’re Having an Identity Crisis, I described being at my breaking point and feeling insecure as I struggled to figure out who I was.
God worked in my heart to show me that I didn’t need to have all the answers. As a child of God, my identity is rooted in who He is, not in what I do or what I like. Because I follow Christ, the insecurity knocking at my door can be defeated. Even when I’m struggling, God promises that I can cast all my anxiety on Him because he cares for me (1 Peter 5:7).
I talk about following Christ, but what does this actually mean?
I remember the day fairly clearly despite the fact that I had been living in a continual state of fog for months.
“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” I said as I moved a stack of posters and made myself comfortable in the chair across from my coworker’s desk.
I had gone to her office for a quick work-related question, but then lingered. I was standing there chatting before deciding that if I was going to be there awhile, I had better take a seat before my legs gave out. I was at a breaking point and longed for someone to understand what I was going through.
Some days I wake up and I literally cannot get up.
My body won’t let me.
My legs feel heavy with a tingly sensation as if they’ve just fallen asleep after I’ve been seated for a while. My hands are tingly as well, but there’s more pain, like pins and needles.
I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.
I roll over and want to get up. But, I just can’t. Shooting pain moves up my arms and into my chest.
Frustration builds before I intentionally stop my racing mind.
I’ll be okay, I think. This is just temporary. Let yourself rest.