Jennifer Plesko

Every morning for the last week, when my alarm goes off, I just lie in bed for awhile staring at the ceiling. Anxiety sits on my chest like an anvil, and the day seems too imposing to face. Where do I go? What do I do? Will today be the day something changes for the better, or will I get knocked down a peg once more? Then the “What Ifs” swoop in, and I want to pull the covers over my head and disappear.

What has happened to me? I have always been the one who is organized, efficient, put-together. I was the one sending out Christmas cards on December 1st. I was the one taking a break from painting and caulking my house to spend an hour at the gym. I was the one volunteering to make things from scratch for pot lucks and bake sales after putting in a full day at the office. And yet here I am with a blank day planner and no idea what to do next because so much of what I’ve worked for has been taken from me through situations beyond my control. I have never thought of myself as a control freak, but apparently I am really partial to control. I have a major crush on stability too.

But each day I feebly pull myself out of bed and somehow function through another day with the annoyingly persistent hope that God knows what He’s doing and all of this is temporary. Then I daydream of hopping a plane to Tahiti and changing my name to Teehuteatuaonoa.