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My chest feels a little tight.

I’ve been sitting here for the past 10 minutes or so contemplating this post and I realize that I am once again scared that you (Imaginary Reader) will reject me if I am honest. You will deem me boring and tiresome. You will decide that I complain too much and justly reap the life I sew for myself. You will blame me for my lot and leave me to stew in it. You will confirm for me, the moment before you go, my deepest fears about just how and why I am unloveable.

This is what has kept me frozen, my hands suspended above these keys while I searched for something meaningful to say about God or faith or self-acceptance.

The truth is, I was out of sorts today. I was overwhelmed and anxious. I managed to make a beginning on my apartment despite this. And now, aside from wanting to go to bed and being ever so slightly dreadful of having to wake up tomorrow, I am just okay.

If I am to tell the truth here everyday for a year, then yes, it will likely at times be dull. I want to apologize for that, and I won’t. Because this is just part of what it means to be human. This is part of the me that I have sought to embrace; my patterns of thoughts or feelings like ruts in a well-traveled dirt road.

My faith tonight rests in the belief that how I am is good enough, however that might be. It is a tenuous faith. I am barely beginning to know it. These posts are my practice of it. Perhaps someday it won’t matter to me, Imaginary Reader, if you turn away from these in disgust to go somewhere more exciting, somewhere that promises to help you feel better. Perhaps I won’t need you then like I still need you now. Perhaps. I like to imagine it’s possible. That one day I will be able to hold this truth firmly within myself: that no matter what anyone else thinks of me, no matter how anyone else may judge me, I am worthy exactly as I am.