This statement is so powerful: to admit that you’re not okay and to work through the awful paralyzing feelings that torment you… this is true strength.

I am not okay. I have not been okay for weeks. My anxiety is ruthless, and my depression is darker than it has been in years. Ugly, foul thoughts spiral in my head, so much so that I feel like I’m drowning in a wave of despair. And yet…

And yet, I watch the sun peek through the shadowy storm clouds, as if to say, “Hello, dear friend, I’ve missed you.”

And yet, I sit on the phone for hours with my aunt and my sister, crying about the worries that we are all feeling. The tears pour steadily, but so does the laughter, and by the end of the phone calls, I feel like I can take another step.

And yet, I reach out to embrace my husband, and he holds me as the pieces of my soul attempt to combust. He holds me, and I cry, for the fifth time since Saturday. He holds me until my body goes a bit limp, and then he gets me a blanket and my favorite tea. He tells me I’m beautiful, despite my ragged knotted hair and swollen eyes. He isn’t being accommodating, he is loving me at my weakest because he loves me at my best, too.

And yet, my dog snuggles into my side, as if to say, “I know you are not okay, so let me give you some of my joy.” And it works, Lord, how that precious soul makes me feel loved.

I am not okay, and yet, I am. I am okay because this storm will pass, as they always do. The sun will continue to peek through the gloomy clouds, and perhaps a rainbow will shine brightly over head: a living reminder of a promise God once gave. A promise to say, one day, when this dark season passes, I will reflect prismatic light over you, once again.

I hold onto that promise, like a pinky curling into my own. I take another breath, bow my heavy head, and I allow myself to not be okay.