A way forward for the muddy, wandering, try-hard woman

Ann Voskamp | 7/9/2018 | Staff
oxboy (Posted by) Level 4
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In an effort to find myself, buried beneath real and self-imposed responsibilities and on a mission to recover fragmented parts of a weary heart, I started writing.

Under all the words, under all the stories, was someone who needed to be found: a daughter waiting to be reborn.

Husband - Transformation

My husband noticed a transformation as I wrote.

Under the guise of ministry, sandwiched between good works and moving words, I became a workaholic.

Version - Myself - Annoyances - Creativity - Outlet

A more fully alive version of myself surfaced. I smiled more easily and wasn’t bogged down with typical annoyances, because my creativity had a steady outlet.

But as my fingers tapped on the keyboard, I started grasping for more, trying to fill an insatiable hunger for validation that began when I was a young woman.

Guise - Ministry - Works - Words - Workaholic

Under the guise of ministry, sandwiched between good works and moving words, I became a workaholic.

And in the process of following a great dream, I was careless with my greater dream of being a devoted wife and attentive mama. Sometimes I even neglected my posts at home for my posts online.

Tension - Callings - Result - Times

The tension of two callings threatened to snap me in two and sting those closest to me. I was so focused on the result that those dearest to me felt invisible at times.

I wandered from home in an emotional and spiritual sense.

Strategies - Situation - Changes - Signs - Addict

I tried to implement strategies that could improve the situation, but the changes were short lived. It was as though I couldn’t help myself—true signs of an addict.

I wanted better boundaries, more balance, to be able to pause in the middle of a project (without resentment), but I didn’t know how.

Day - Country - Road - East - Home

So one day, on a country road east of our home, I reluctantly let God dig up the dirt in my heart as I ran (okay, jogged). From a place of desperation, with some trepidation, I prayed something...
(Excerpt) Read more at: Ann Voskamp
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