The Question

I got home today after spending the whole day driving around metro Detroit. I went out driving because that's what I do when I'm feeling a bit off, and the past couple days had been rough. I kept having these waves of frustration and resentment that would punch me in the stomach and leave me struggling to connect, struggling to care for the people around me.

I walked in and within a few minutes, Bjorn asked me, "Are you doing ok?".

(I have a tendency to totally telegraph my mood to the people around me. Don't trust me with secrets of war.)

I told him no, that I've been in a weird mood for a couple of days. That's part of why I wanted to go out driving today, that's what I do when I'm feeling a little off.

I went back to my room and worked on some decorating I'm doing in there before dinner.

When I came back out, the table was set with a pot stickers and a delicious pile of noodles that Ting made.


(Thanks again for dinner, Ting.)

I sat down, ate a few pot stickers, and made small talk,

Then, two pot stickers into dinner, Bjorn looked over at me: "So, what going on?".


Sometimes it's such a pain in the ass to live with people that know me so well.

Me in a weird-o mood almost always leads to long conversations, personal revelation, and lots of tears.

And tonight was no different.

Bjorn and Ting were amazing, they sat with me as I cried myself through the conversation.

It was long and moved in and out of various long standing insecurities of mine, I won't attempt to paraphrase.

The important bit is the last bit, where we finally arrive, the underlying question underpinning all the other.

The question:

Do I believe that I have worth? Do I believe that I am enough. If I never did anything to be proud of ever again, would I still be loved? Would I have dignity? Do I have a basic, fundamental belief in my own worth?

Do I believe that I am a child of God? Do I believe that I am loved and will be loved no matter what?


And the answer, at least for now, is no, not really.

I know it, intellectually, but I don't feel it.

I know and feel that my parents love me. I know and feel that I'm admired.

I know that God loves me and yet I struggle to feel it, I struggle to sit in silence and know, deeply, that I am loved by God.

I work to prove myself, pushing myself harder and harder, working to earn the worth that I fear I am lacking.

All for naught, of course, because there's only one way for me to feel it.

I have to believe it first.

I have to believe I'm loved, and then I will feel it.

No amount of blogging or working or throwing of dinner parties will substitute.

No will power, no work, no gold stars - there's no earning it.

Only belief.


And difficult.