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The┬ákind of day when you really need to accomplish something so you don’t feel like a total failure, but the idea of doing anything at all is so overwhelming, you feel like you can’t move.

The kind of day where you finally get up the gumption to cook something with ingredients, and then can’t get the lid off the kalamata olives, and instead of calmly trying various approaches, you break down in tears over how cruel and unfair life can be, that it would give you hard-to-open olives on a day when getting out of bed was hard.

The sort of day when you wander onto the Internet and are confronted with stories of people who have it so much worse than you ever will that they might as well exist on another planet: sweet mothers dying of cancer in their thirties, refugees with nowhere to belong, innocent children in pain…and instead of making you feel better about your life, you sob, because you feel so guilty about feeling so miserable.

The kind of day where more than anything, you are trying to forgive and let go, but then you realize how bitter your thoughts are, and you cry out to God to teach you mercy, because you just don’t understand.

It’s been that sort of a week.

It feels like my whole life is falling apart and spinning out of control, and it seems counter-intuitive to “let go and let God.” I’m dizzy, I’m confused, I hurt, and I want to grab on and grab on, and there’s nothing to grab onto.

And as I write these words, I realize that’s OK, because even if I have nothing to grasp, I’m being held.

That is something to hold onto.