I was going to use this month’s blog to talk about the difference between healing and sanctification (because wow did they sound similar at first!) but I figured that I have a few posts and reels that are coming out about that this month, so I’ll let those things “speak” for me. For those of you who have received advanced copies of my book, been able to see the table of contents, or who have read previous posts of mine, you know that this calendar year, I have done “themes” on social media and all of my other writing that has mirrored the chapters of my book. It’s been my fun way of getting people excited for what is to come and, let’s be honest, it is all pretty relevant stuff to those of us who are living life after high control religions, cults, and fundamentalism. 

So as I evaluated what I wanted to write for my blog this month, it struck me that one of the pieces of healing that I have to frequently be cognizant of is celebration, joy, pleasure, and laughter. 

I can remember back in my religious days how things like joy and celebration–unless it was joy in the Lord–seemed frivolous, and in most cases, unnecessary and indulgent. Sure, I could find relief and joy in my salvation, but my main goal was mostly to work out my salvation, which in most cases wasn’t all that fun. I feared any Sunday sermon, any book I read, any talk I listened to that didn’t conflict me. I searched high and low for the ways that I could be changed, refined, and emptied of myself. 

Truthfully, since leaving that behind, I have not automatically developed the ability to let loose, have fun, celebrate, and put on my joyful pants. It’s not that I don’t or can’t have fun. It just feels a little…well, like a language I’m not super fluent in. 

When people ask me what I do for fun, I go blank. Sure, there are things that I like, but most people don’t consider “writing an outline for a new book” something that’s on their fun list. Insert cringe face emoji, right? 

One of the things I’ve been working on this year is having rather firm work hour boundaries–meaning I do not work past 5:00 pm nor do I work on the weekends. By that point, my brain is pure mush and any work I did do wouldn’t be that fruitful anyways. And while my brain and body really love that I am giving myself more time and space to turn off, what I’ve realized is that I have no idea what to do with my time. 

As I write this, I am floating back to a memory from nearly two decades ago when I worked in ministry full time. Thursdays were technically my one day off each week, but even then I was expected to use it for some sort of ministry or relational activity since I was single and therefore didn’t need to devote that time to serving my family. One Thursday, I was at a Christian bookstore on my day off; I was a regular there so I was sitting in the middle of one of the aisles, looking at the newest books on dating (well, I don’t know that I was looking at those exact books, but probably! I was always trying to find the missing link as to what more I needed to do to finally get my future husband to notice me!)

I was so engrossed in what I was reading that I didn’t notice when one of the pastors from the church I worked at was walking down the aisle talking to me. It wasn’t his day off–he was coming here during work hours (something I could have done too), to pick up an order. A few years later at my going away party (when I quit my job at the church), that same pastor reflected back on that day he saw me in the bookstore, saying how in awe he was that even on my days off I was looking for ways to further my walk with the Lord and teach the students that were in the church. I received a round of applause from everyone–I looked around the room to see many smiling faces expressing their pride that truly every moment of my life was devoted to Christ.

What those people couldn’t see–and what I didn’t have words for then–was that I was there in that bookstore because I didn’t have hobbies. I didn’t have any friends. Fun to me was a Friday night at one of my high school students’ games where other people from the church were hanging. I was lonely, isolated, and constantly anxious. I was not living the life of a typical 23 year old. And while I was being praised for it, I wanted out of it so badly. 

Like most people coming out of high control religion, fundamentalism, and cults, I did have a period of time where I engaged in what I considered reckless behavior. Ya know, that type of worldly fun that seems to be a rite of passage for most people. I feared that it would be my utter demise since it was so different than how I had grown up. Getting drunk several nights a week and doing walks of shame wasn’t my idea of fun either, but I couldn’t deny that my anxiety had decreased, as did my sense of isolation.

At some point, rather quickly, that reckless behavior (which I now realize wasn’t actually reckless…just drastically different than what I was used to) no longer seemed appealing and I endeavored to find more of a balance. 

I think, in some ways, that is still where I am at.

I have friends, I go out and do things (as long as I can still be getting ready for bed by 9pm!), and I am generally satisfied with my life. I am proud of what I’ve accomplished and am not intimidated by where I am hoping to grow. 

But I’m learning to feel comfortable in fun, joy, pleasure, and celebration. It still feels so foreign to me. It feels unfamiliar (and you know how our nervous systems gravitate toward familiarity instead of new experiences–even if those experiences may be better for us!)

This has been looming in my mind for a while now…celebration, joy, excitement. And my book. And that it’s going to be published in just a few weeks. And that someone told me I needed to have a launch party. Ya know, a party to celebrate that I wrote a book. A party where people will be looking at me–I’m the center of attention. It sounds awful.

It’s not that I don’t want to celebrate–I truly am finally realizing what a big deal this is. It’s more that I don’t know how to celebrate. And I don’t know how to plan a celebration that is about celebrating me (I really should take more cues from Stassi Schroeder in the first few seasons of Vanderpump Rules!)

And yet, I know that it’s one of those “now or never” moments. This is a part of healing. This is a part of living in a healing body. This is a part of integrating my past into my present.

So for the past few months, I’ve been practicing. I’ve been doing things that are “out of the norm”. I’ve said “yes” to dates with people I wouldn’t normally say “yes” to. I have genuinely looked for hobbies, classes, and other experiences I can participate in that will help add a little zest into my life. I feel rusty and unpracticed, but I am trying. 

It’s funny to me that this is the point of healing that I am at–learning to expand my nervous system capacity for fun, joy, celebration, spontaneity, and enjoyment. I’ve been able to recognize that I will never be the fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants person. I am never going to be someone that is casually dating multiple people at once. I will always need at least one full day on the weekend to not have to do anything–where I can spend it silent, reading, writing, and outside. 

I can rest in who I am while also expanding who I am. 

And, as I lean more into the experience of healing, it’s easy to see the actual goal of healing is the living part of it–which includes not only being comfortable in the dark spaces of life but also the light, joyful moments of ease, and celebrating just how far we have come.