Tag: writing

In the Middle of the Storm: Learning Who I Am While Life Is Unresolved

I am in the middle.

In the thick of it.

The chaos is swirling from every direction, and my mind is constantly trying to process the ebbs and flows of the punches life keeps throwing.

I started this blog from the perspective of learning how to stay steady in yourself while life remains unresolved…

and here I am.

Still learning.

Still becoming.

I have found myself this year in a constant battle—not of fixing everything around me—but of not losing myself while everything around me feels unstable.

Anger. Confusion. Resentment. A deep sense of unfairness.

It all stacks up.

It becomes heavy.

Unsettling.

And unlike anything I can simply “step away from.”

There is no escape plan for this kind of storm.

No shelter to hide in.

No boat to ride it out safely in the distance.

It is just me.

Facing me.

Learning me.

Trying to cope with things that feel unresolved and without clear reconciliation.

Relationships are hard.

Especially in dysfunctional family dynamics.

It often feels like no one gets what they want while continuing to repeat the same cycles over and over again.

But I have become aware.

Aware of the patterns.
Aware of the cycles.
Aware that I actually have the power to step out of the constant rotation I’ve found myself in.

But awareness is not simple.

Awareness brings clarity—but it can also bring fear.

And fear, if we are not careful, can begin to change us.

It can make us emotionally numb. Bitter. Angry. Detached.

It can slowly reshape our inner character.

Because the human body wants to protect itself from pain.

And sometimes, in trying to avoid our own pain… we end up passing pain onto others.

And I don’t want to become that person.

The one who was hurt and then hurts others.

I have spent my whole life fighting not to become that version of myself.

But I would be lying if I said there aren’t moments lately…

where the temptation to become cold just to survive feels easier.

Where becoming the “villain” in someone else’s story feels like a form of protection.

Because when you have been pushed aside for a long time…

unseen…
unheard…
unappreciated…

it wears you down.

So I sit.

I write.

I think.

I try to make sense of what is swirling inside of me.

And I gently ask myself:

Who do you want to be when this storm passes?

Because even if it takes years…

it will pass.

Do I want to become jaded?

Cynical?

Bitter?

Closed off?

Emotionally disconnected?

Or do I want to stay soft in places where life is trying to harden me?

I have learned that suppressing my emotions for too long has taken a toll on me—not just emotionally, but physically as well.

So I am learning to be present in my body.

To sit with what I feel instead of burying it.

And today, when I try to push it all aside, I ask myself:

Will I let circumstance and injustice change who I am at my core?

Will I let it dim my light?

Will I let it taint the way I love?

“To thine own self be true.”

It is a phrase I keep tucked in my heart on days like this.

And I can’t help but also hear the words of Jesus whispering in my spirit:

“The truth shall set you free.”

I want freedom from this storm.

I want forgiveness in my heart.

I want truth.

I want reconciliation.

I want clarity.

And I believe that if certain truths were exposed, it would bring freedom.

But sometimes… that exposure doesn’t come when we want it to.

And maybe that is where the deeper work is done.

Maybe the only way through the waiting is not losing ourselves in the process.

Maybe the path forward is staying anchored in who we truly are.

Anchored in truth.

Anchored in love.

Anchored in God.

Because I do believe there is a line we all walk.

A dangerous one I am learning to recognize:

The line between peace and control.

Because it is easy to manipulate situations in the name of peace.

To perform love.

To keep things calm on the surface while suppressing what is real underneath.

But that kind of peace is fragile.

It doesn’t last.

It breaks when life shifts again.

So instead, I am learning this:

Do not build peace on control.
Do not build love on performance.
Do not build healing on suppression.

Stay anchored.

Stay rooted.

Stay true.

Even when nothing around you feels resolved.

Steady.
Present.
Trusting God in the middle.

If you’re in a season that feels unresolved, heavy, or emotionally loud… I want you to know you’re not alone in it.

Have you ever found yourself trying to stay true to who you are while everything around you feels like it’s shifting?

I’d love to hear from you.

Why I started This Space (Held in the Middle)

There’s a place I keep finding myself in lately.

Not at the beginning of things.

Not at the end.

But in the middle.

The part where things are still unfolding.

Still unclear.

Still becoming.

For a long time, I didn’t know what to do with that space.

I thought the goal was always to move through it as quickly as possible. To fix it, understand it, improve it, and move on so I could feel steady again.

That was my pattern in almost everything.

If something felt off, I would try to correct it.

If I felt overwhelmed, I would try to manage it.

If I didn’t understand something, I would try to figure it out as quickly as possible.

I thought that’s how you create peace.

But over time, I started noticing something I couldn’t ignore anymore.

I wasn’t becoming more peaceful.

I was becoming more tired.

What I didn’t see at first

I used to believe peace came after resolution.

After I got it right.

After I figured it out.

After I improved it enough.

So I lived in a constant cycle of noticing discomfort and trying to fix it.

Even internally.

But the more I did that, the more disconnected I felt from myself.

I wasn’t actually staying with what I was feeling.

I was always moving away from it in order to fix it.

And that came at a cost.

What I’m learning now

I’m learning something that feels simple, but has changed how I move through my life.

Not everything is meant to be fixed immediately.

Not every feeling is a problem.

Not every moment of discomfort means something is wrong.

Sometimes it’s just life happening in real time.

And I don’t have to rush out of it to be okay.

I can stay.

Why “Held in the Middle”

This space is called Held in the Middle because that’s where I’ve been learning to live again.

In the middle of becoming and not yet being there.

In the middle of clarity and uncertainty.

In the middle of peace and discomfort.

In the middle of faith and unanswered questions.

Not at the extremes.

Not at arrival points.

But in the process.

And what I’m starting to understand is this:

Being in the middle doesn’t mean something is wrong.

It just means life is still unfolding.

What this space will be

This isn’t a place where I have everything figured out.

It’s a place where I’m learning to:

stop turning every discomfort into something I need to fix

stay present instead of constantly managing myself

listen to my body instead of overriding it

build a kind of peace that doesn’t depend on control

live my faith in the middle, not just after things are resolved

This space is less about answers, and more about awareness.

Less about fixing life, and more about staying with it.

If you’re here

You might be in your own middle too.

In a season where things feel unfinished.

Where you’re still becoming who you are.

Where you’re learning that peace might not come from fixing everything, but from learning how to stay even when things aren’t resolved.

If that’s you, you’re not alone here.

I’m still learning this too.

And this is where I’m writing from now.

To read the beginning of this series click here!

Leigh Leigh

The Irony of “Let’s Just Go”

That is the saying on my cute floral license plate cover on my ride. It reads, “LET’S JUST GO.”

I kind of find the irony humorous, considering the type of driver I actually am. What would you call it—rigid, timid, unsure, probably going to linger a little too long at a yellow caution light because I don’t want to cut you off? Cautious? Defensive?

You know the one. The driver who counts to three after the light turns green. The one who waits years to turn left on yellow. Yup—that’s me. I’m the girl you’re probably road-raging at, yelling, “GO! JUST GO! Oh my gosh, GO ALREADY!”

And then you look down, read my adorable floral license plate cover that says LET’S JUST GO, and you eye-roll thinking, The nerve of this lady. She isn’t even going—so why is she announcing that we should?

True story. One day my daughter and I were leaving a store, sitting in a left-turn lane on yellow. The guy behind me was honking and motioning for me to go, but there was a steady stream of oncoming cars. Darting out just to get him off my bumper wasn’t worth endangering my life—or anyone else’s.

In my cute naïveté, I almost thought he was trying to tell me something was hanging out of my trunk. I was genuinely confused… until he sped up on my right, cut me off in the intersection, flipped me off, and darted in front of the oncoming traffic that had the right of way.

I was stunned by the nerve. The audacity. The impatience.

I sometimes think I should replace my license plate cover altogether. But then again—it doesn’t say “Let’s just go already!!!” People need to chill.

“Let’s just go.” Sometimes I want to scream that phrase at others in my life. Obviously, I wouldn’t swerve them, cut them off, flip them off, or jeopardize their safety in the process. It’s just that the phrase has purpose, even if it doesn’t always possess speed.

Maybe it’s a command—but not a rush.

When we’re in the car, everyone is in a hurry. But in life, when we just need to move forward, there isn’t always a fire under our feet or a road-rage driver in our rearview mirror.

Why do we tend to not just go? For me, it comes down to uncertainty—gauging distance, timing, depth, and not wanting to cause harm by moving too soon.

And if I want people to have patience and grace for my overly safe driving, I should learn to extend that same grace to friends who are cautious, hesitant, or simply not ready to put the pedal to the metal in their own season.

We should go wisely, not recklessly.
We should go when it’s safe—when we have peace.
We should go after seeking the Lord for His wisdom in the matter.

I love Proverbs 3:5–6:
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths.”

So next time you feel the urge to yell, JUST GO, pause. Step back. Examine the situation. Is there truly a rush—or are you just impatient with someone else’s process?

Walking alongside others who are still in trials you’ve already finished can tempt you to rush them toward freedom. But I believe it’s in those long pauses that the Lord does His best work. After all, He says, “Be still and know that I am God.”

Now if only we could convince the road-raged guy behind us—five minutes late to his meeting—that maybe this pickle isn’t our fault after all.

Maybe ‘Let’s just go’ was never about speed at all—it was always about trust!

Reflecting on the whole NEW YEAR NEW me TREND

It’s interesting, really—I’ve always been a bit of a fanatic about the New Year. The anticipation of the whole “New Year, New Me” craze used to be the fuel that kept me going year after year.

I think it was last year when my brain finally decided to grow a brain of its own. I had this sudden realization: Wait a minute… starting something new in the winter feels kind of absurd. When we look at the natural cycles of life—plants, vegetation, growth—we see that most seeds are planted in the spring and harvested in the fall. So why on earth do we think we can plant seeds in the dead of winter and expect them to be thriving by the next year? Something about the whole ordeal just started to feel off to me. I decided not to participate. I was experiencing my own Bah-humbug (New Years style!)

Honestly, the more in tune I become with the shenanigans of this present world, the more I question the validity of many popular traditions.

With all that said, this year I felt far less of the New Year’s bah-humbug this year and decided to set goals—but not for the entire year. Instead, I leaned into winter goals. Seasonal goals. Goals that actually make sense for the season I’m living in.

I fully plan on changing some of them when spring rolls around—and honestly, doesn’t that feel more realistic? Wouldn’t this mindset help those of us who fall off the New Year’s bandwagon after week two or three? Instead of giving up for another year, we could simply reset with the next season.

Wouldn’t it also make sense if our goals matched what our bodies are already adjusting to? The slower rhythms, the inward energy, the need for rest? Maybe if we considered that before going all in, we’d spare ourselves the shame, self-judgment, and harsh inner criticism that tends to follow when we “fail.”

I don’t know—just something I’ve been pondering this morning.

Do you have New Year’s goals or traditions you keep every year? Have you started to question whether the whole “New Year, New Me” mindset is a bit of a scam? I’d genuinely love to hear your thoughts.