I'm Breathing Out Winter

 
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I’m opening up the windows of my home.

I'm cleaning house, tucking my now short hair behind my ears as I sweep away the dread, chase the stagnant out of this place. 

My body is breathing out winter.  

It’s been a long time in the dark.  It’s been a long time sinking under the weight of a depression reaching it’s fingers up and around my heart, feeling anxiety settle over my shoulders in familiarity.

I’m opening up the windows of my home. Watching the light flood in and bring it’s golden, it’s warmth. I’m breathing deeply. Because even though I don’t feel rescued yet from the deep exhaustion of holding my head up high and even though I’m starting to wobble where I’m standing, I’m trusting still. Trusting that it’s okay to not be okay. Trusting that seasons change, like they always do, and summer is not far off. Trusting that this mundane moment contains perhaps some of the brightest potential, this hope stain too deep to ever be scrubbed from the canvas of my heart. It’s here to stay. Hope is here to stay.

I think that’s what Spring is all about. It’s about hope. It’s about the dead coming to life. It’s about new freckles and shedding heavy sweaters. It's about cutting your hair, letting old things go. It’s about warmth. It’s about breezes softly lifting the curtains. 

That’s what I’m hearing right now. That it will all be okay. I will be okay. That eventually, I will be shedding these heavy, weighty feelings. And I’ll be rejoicing in the sun.

The winter never lasts forever. I read somewhere that depression doesn't have eternal life. And as I write this I’m feeling the edges of my mouth turn upward into a smile. Because I know it’s true, even if I can’t feel it yet. And it’s chasing away the night. Light, pouring into every crack in my heart.

Sometimes I’m afraid to show these cracks, to offer them up to a world very much hurting. Hurt people hurt people. But I will always press in for vulnerability. Because that’s where the healing comes. When we all feel safe enough to show our broken places. Say, "I'm depressed" and maybe hear "me too." Bare our bruises to each other.

So, here are mine. And it feels like healing.

I’m opening up the windows of my home. Letting in the light.