Fumbling in the Dark

Finding my footing in the shadow of shame

May 06, 2026

Sometimes progress is imperceptible. It can feel like you move through months or even years and you wonder, “Will I ever grow in this area?” I have always had trouble self-soothing. While in marriage counseling over a decade ago, I was introduced to Psalm 131:

My heart is not proud, Lord,
my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
or things too wonderful for me.
But I have calmed and quieted myself,
I am like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child I am content.
Israel, put your hope in the Lord
both now and forevermore.

Ever since then, I have tried to call this to mind when I am feeling stressed or the panic wraps its fingers around my neck. But I never could fully understand what it looked like. In the past, I called it forth, in moments of fear and anxiety. Or in places of deep grief. But much of the time, my husband has been there, helping me find my footing again after a fall off the proverbial cliff. But it isn’t realistic to always have him there. At times, I find myself feeling guilty for always needing him. And I know it sounds a lot like, “Where’s God in this?” This isn’t to say that God is absent from my mind. I hope it goes without saying that first and foremost, I seek Him out. Oftentimes, it is me, God, and Kris. Standing together, overcoming, unlearning all the things that have held me in bondage.

But many times, when I am sitting alone pondering how I moved through moments of conflict, I reflect on the fact that I often rely on Kris to help me find my footing again. He has been such a vital part of my healing journey, and God has ordained that. But then I feel God calling me into deeper healing. I sit with the knowlege that I should be able to settle my spirit without him.

As I have tapped back into writing poetry, memories come flooding in, and poetry was a second language for me as I grew up. It is the way I sorted through hard feelings that I didn’t feel safe enough to express. It was an expression that was more than just words on a page. It helped me make sense of my life and what was happening inside. I didn’t see it at the time. Looking back, it is apparent that poetry was an outlet. Because of that, over the last couple of months, I have been writing more poetry. I have felt a pull to it. Sometimes my spirit won’t settle until I finally stop and lay the words down on the page.

So in a moment of conflict last week, after Kris left before we could resolve it—he had to lead a group so he couldn’t stay or he would have—I was left to sort through my emotions alone. Twenty years ago, ten years ago, maybe even five years ago, I couldn’t have done what I did that night. He left, and I felt the immediate pain of being abandoned in my time of need. But because I have been working at this healing thing for a few years now, I knew that I had to sort through it all without Kris.

So instead of lashing out at Kris via chat or having a panic attack because he left me, I started writing. Short sentences, filled with emotion, describing everything that was going on in my body and mind. This poem was the result.

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