The new story of april continued

(Continuation of the New Story of April. For the original please start here)

April wasn't all bad though. On the 29th of that month I had the wonderful opportunity to see two of my best friends graduate from medical school. They were a part of the first graduating class at that institution, and I couldn't have been prouder. The weekend came at a more sedate period of the month for me. Lilly was medically doing great at the moment, and the grandparents health was under control. I had more fun than I had in months, but the joy for my friends was also tempered by frustrations with my own life. I watched the excitement in their eyes as they talked about moving to their respective new cities and programs, felt the simultaneous fear and joy at the challenges awaiting them. It was in those moments that I came to the heart breaking realization:

"I don't think I'm called to stay in Child Life."

The Story of April.. revisited (A new story)

A year ago I told you a story. A story of the month of April, it's highs and lows, heartbreaks and joys. A time when God grabbed me by the shoulders, shook me a few times, and started guiding me along a path. At the time I had no idea where the path was leading, how long it would take to travel, or even why I was asked to walk. Yet, I went along.

I blogged a great deal about the problems, but there were many pieces of the puzzle I withheld. Most of my reasoning was logical and sound, as I hope you'll agree, but there was also a very tangible element involved: fear. It's a dynamic of which's grip I have not quite escaped, and truthfully, it is still a bit early in the game for me to safely share the background details. However, God has made it clear that instead of shying away from the fire, I am asked to go through it. Here goes.

This is me

I'm staring down the bottle of pills sitting next to me. It's seemingly innocuous. Transparent orange bottle, light blue lid. A label on it that has my name, the pharmacy information, and the dosage instruction. Its the word in between  that terrifies me: Escitalopram.

After 27 years of fighting my battles on my own, I am being told the burden is too much, and it's time to accept some (chemical) help.