For the last week, Caterpillars kept showing up in or outside my apartment. This conspicuous sign arrived around the time I got the sense my soul required cocooning. My word of the year had seemingly sent my system into a shocking need for inner cultivation—especially after I fell backward into old habits for comfort and consolation to my painful grief and depression.
In the past, I have had words find me — in a serendipitous manner with a lace of intuition. This year was no exception as my favorite poet and artist, Morgan Harper Nichols, created an Instagram Reel of suggested words for the year. A screenshot determined my word this year, but I am certain it was meant for me (even if it were a millisecond between my word and another.)
I was clouded with so many fearful thoughts of the future, the what-ifs and I can’ts and worry-mixed-with-doubt. It was hard to gain clarity and even find out the truth in God’s sight: what is the best decision and next-right-thing? If only I could see through the fear, I pondered; what would that feel like? A sigh of relief, a breath of fresh air, and peace? Likely all of the above.
Discernment is a tool in our spiritual arsenal – one of the Holy Spirit gifts to us. It guides us to the will of God, which is to say the best possible outcome for us.
Not all worries are created equal. For instance: “Will I be able to feed my family for the week” or “Will I lose my job now that they’ve cut costs significantly?” These worries, while not helpful, are warranted; they also keep us on our toes so we become vigilant against our fears (by resourcing ourselves against perceived threat).
Last August, I accepted a contract design position with a reputable company. But deep down I knew it was the wrong decision. I had quickly said yes before I stepped back in order to evaluate why I was taking the job. I had already lined up an interview with a teaching placement agency after completing redoing my resume to reflect my new career direction: teaching.
I am a pleasure seeker. Food became my main source of pleasure to escape a world that felt uncomfortable, difficult and scary—a world I didn’t know how to cope with.
I ate to numb the anxiety and the depression when I either felt too much or didn’t feel at all (and wanted to feel something). I ate to avoid the very big calling that loomed ahead. I ate to run from my inner world. I ate to bring a sense of pleasure that masked the harsh reality around me.
