A Storm on the Horizon

I can remember countless beach trips as a kid.

I would make sandcastles that always crumbled within seconds. I dug as deep as I could reach for crabs and shells. I’d play in the water while constantly being told, “Come back, that’s too far!” 

The beach has always been a place of peace and rest for me. But with the beach comes the risk of storms.

Photograph by Eliza Stewart Photography (click the image to visit her website!)

I could lose count thinking of every time we’d be playing on the sand, and in the sky would be billowing black storm clouds racing across the sea. As soon as we’d see a flash of lightning or hear a bolt of thunder, every toy, towel, and toddler got packed up and toted back to the room. The kids would stand face-pressed into the glass balcony door, shivering and bundled as we watched the rain and wind rip across the shore. Waiting impatiently for it to pass, so that we could charge back out to the sun and sand.  Sometimes the storms would pass quickly. Other times we were trapped indoors the rest of the day.

Southern summer storms have no rhythm. The only thing you can predict is that they will likely pop up. 

Living with anxiety and depression, I’ve had a fair amount of storms make their way through what was up-until-then a sunny day. But like dark clouds forming in the distance, I can sense the sinking weight of depression or the active energy of anxiety rearing their stormy heads. And I can do nothing to stop them. I cannot will them away any more than a child on the beach could keep storm clouds away from their sandcastle. 

Storms will come and they will go. 

What I can do is tend to my self and my soul while the rain pours. I can bundle up with all of my strategies from therapy and wrap myself up snug and tight with support from my deep well of friendships, praying that my medication will do its job. And sometimes all I can do is have a snack and take a nap. 

Maybe you need a nap and snack.

Maybe you need the support of a friend.

Maybe you need the work of a therapist. 

Maybe you need medication. 

I don’t know what you have and what you need. All I know is that storms will come, and I pray that you will tend to your whole self as the rain pours - heart, mind, body, and soul. That you will know that you are more than the storms that surround you. I hope you will dig deep into your inner most being and remember the child in you who is curious and resilient. I pray that you have someone who is looking out for you, who will call out “Come back, that’s too far,” who will go out into the raging sea to rescue you. I hope you get what you need.

Because the storms won’t last forever. And you’ve got more sandcastles to build.