The place of “I’m done” led me on the most beautiful healing journey
On a hot August afternoon, I walked through my doctor’s office doors with the earned badge of experience. No need for anyone to come with me, this was my third time around, which made me feel like a pro at the baby doctor stuff, or so I thought.
I was 13 weeks along, and before I knew it, we moved from the ordinary exam room to the ultrasound space because our “little stinker” was stubborn and wanted to hide that sweet heartbeat sound. But, of course, I thought nothing of it, as our daughter did the same.
I lay quietly, watching the ultrasound screen, searching for what I had often seen as a maternity nurse and a mother. As I stared at that precious outline of our child, shock and swirling thoughts bombarded my mind.
My so-called “pro” status quickly crumpled into a beginner’s place of heartache.
As tears of disbelief and sheer hurt tumbled down my cheeks, I called my husband with the news, and I worried about our then nine and six-year-old. My doctor assured me our kids would handle it better than I did, and he was right.
I couldn’t grasp why the 12 weeks before were spent in sheer misery and sickness, including a hospital stay for dehydration. I thought what I had endured could count for something because from what I had known, “the sicker you are, means the hormones are doing their job, which is to make a healthy baby.”
My body had earned a healthy baby, dadgummit! Yet, I was left with aching arms and a broken heart.
The following week, we chose to have surgery, and in the next weeks, I endured complications relating to the miscarriage, which caused further grief. I could not see how good could come from this.
Finally, however, the paralyzing sadness was the catalyst in causing me to sit down and wave the white flag of surrender.
I had spent years trying to do and be enough. I worked hard to fit in and earn my rank as a servant of God in our local church.
However, with a heart full of frustration and hurt, I found myself plopping down with arms crossed, telling God, “If you want something from me, you need to let me know; I’m done trying to understand what it is you want. I’ve done everything I’ve known to do to please you”.
I’m pretty sure God said, “Finally, now that I have you quiet and seated, I can begin.”, which matched the similar report on all of my elementary report cards.
The tremendous loss and brokenness moments halted all the busyness, and nothing mattered then. I was left numb and speechless, and not talking was miraculous.
Over time, despair moved into a weekly seat on a little red couch. I thought I was making an appointment with a counselor, but it was a divine season set by the Holy Spirit.
The place of “I’m done” led me on the most beautiful healing journey of knowing God as Father instead of the perceived taskmaster I had envisioned.
Everything that drove me to work and perform for acceptance was stripped away as I grew to know Jesus as HE IS versus who I had been taught to perceive he was.
Layer by layer, with journal, pen, and the Holy Spirit, each lie I had believed was confronted by the Word of truth, and the weights of shame, unforgiveness, and bitterness were surrendered.
For the first time, I could look others in the eye without shame, walk in true freedom, and use the word “no” instead of my people-pleasing “yes.”
That time, to this day, is the most sacred. The same One who wove the beautiful child in my womb was the one who sealed my broken heart with his grace and love. I’m forever changed.
Lindsey Gibson is a Christian writer and speaker, as well as a school nurse, mom, and wife. Her passion is leading women to know the abounding grace and overwhelming love of God, and teach them that it is possible to live as an overcomer through Christ in the middle of life’s everyday struggles and chaos on her Moving Beyond Messy blog. She and her husband, Lloyd, have made a beautiful life together, and currently manage a house full of dogs and big kids in their Tennessee home. You can connect with her on website, Facebook, and Instagram.
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