I see the look in your eyes; that look caused by unimaginable pressure and grief, that look caused by helplessness and hopelessness, that look caused by incessantly rowing a boat that isn’t going anywhere. I see the look because I know the feeling.
Get out of the boat.
Days and days I felt like I was rowing a rickety boat across an ocean of sticky muck. And, no matter how hard I pulled, it kept sucking me in. Deep down I knew if anything was going to change, I had to get out of the boat. You have to get out of your boat.
Granted, there is a sense of security in the boat. After all, it seems solid, gives at least some protection at times, and seems to be moving, even if only in a circle. But what I thought was security was actually an anchor pulling me to the depths, robbing me of confidence and beauty and love and health.
Get out of the boat, I told myself. Just step out.
Of course when you do, you feel exhilarated for an instant, ‘til you realize you’ve been in the boat so long you’ve forgotten how to swim. The muck is still all around you and now you don’t even have a boat to keep you dry.
Swim, girl. Swim hard. Get to solid ground. For many, familiar beacons on shore from the past no longer offer any help and disappear. For the first time, you’re swimming in new territory. But swim you must.
Get out of your boat.
Find solid ground.
It will be all right. I promise.