“Trust the process” you might hear me say, with a strong hint of sarcasm in my tone. A roommate once told me that she’s come to expect that I say everything with a hint of sarcasm in my voice (I’m obviously a great mental health counselor, if that’s true).
“Trust the process”.
This saying came around during my years in grad school, when both I and my cohort were in literal tears or having panic attacks because of looming assignment deadlines or major exams just around the corner. Our professors would see our strife and pain, and I suppose, in an act of mercy and encouragement they would say, “don’t worry, just study, rest, and trust the process.”
For the duration of two years, when things got tough, someone would say “just trust the process”, to which the response would be a big, fat eye roll.
Just a little more than a year removed from grad school, I find myself coming back to this saying. Trust the process.
I find myself muttering it as I craft, and the glitter is getting on everything and everywhere aside from where it needs to be.
I find myself almost meditating on these words when I’m just about drowning in my anxities.
On a small scale, in situations when I’m crafting or trying a new recipe, the saying helps me laugh off my frustration and enjoy the present creativity.
On a larger scale–whether I’m staring at my bank account and thinking about my upcoming bills, or when I’m looking at the physical distance on Google maps between myself and friends and family who I want to be there for, or when my heart is resenting the God who loves me deeply and I just feel stuck–“trust the process” seems more like a challenge than an encouragement.
Some days, I don’t feel up to the challenge. It’s reminiscent of high school fitness tests, staring down a row of seven hurdles knowing you’re going to eat it in the most ungraceful way in front of your crush. All you want to say in that moment is (excuse the language) “fuck this, I can’t do it, can I walk the track instead?” Which translates to, “I want the easy way out, and I want it now.”
And first, most importantly, I think it’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to be frustrated and feeling face-down when life is hard.
To be completely candid: Right now, I don’t know where I’m going to live in the next couple of months. Right now, I want to be with my family in San Diego as they go through health complications. I want to go to a friend’s wedding in November (also in San Diego). I have no idea how I’ll make ends meet during the month of September. My anxiety that was through the roof during grad school has changed me, and I kind of hate myself for the shadow I am now. And above all, I find myself so, so angry at God.
I am neck deep in “the process” and all I want is just one minute to catch my breath, or better yet, I want the easy way out, and I want to walk the track.
I am uncomfortable, and I hate it.
But being uncomfortable is a sign of growing. The process is about growing, and recognizing my choice. I can choose to fall to the ground, or stubbornly find a way to walk the track, if I’m sticking with this high school fitness analogy. Or I can choose to trust the discomfort and know it won’t be this way forever. I can choose to find ways to freely laugh, like when I’m crafting with unholy amounts of glitter, or attempting new recipes for my tribe.
I’m going to trust that I’m going to work through my resentment with God.
I’m going to trust that September will come and go, and things won’t be as bad as I fear.
I’m going to trust that I will find the perfect place to live when I need it.
I’m going to trust that my love for my family and friends in this time is enough, even when I can’t be beside them.
I’m going to do my best to trust this discomfort, and hope I come through on the other side, still standing.
I don’t usually write blogs like this. Meaning, I don’t usually write about the middle of the storm. I usually like to write in the aftermath, once things have reached their resolution or are close to being done. So for those who still read my blog (do people even blog anymore?!), thanks for being part of my process.
And maybe if you’re like me, staring down your own personal hell–seven hurdles with your crush in your P.E. class–I’m hoping for you. I hope you will find a way to first, be okay with your frustrations and calling them out. Give yourself grace. Secondly, I hope you choose to work through your discomfort for your well-being, and I hope you reach the other side, still standing like the badass human you are.
I hope you trust your process (no sarcasm intended).