Ecclesiastes 3:1,” There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:

I find myself in a place where nearly a month has passed since I have written, and it’s not for lack of content. Lately, I have seen the parts of me so desperately in need of changing, and it’s all catching up to me.

The financial habits I could have mastered but haven’t because of comfort — only to change now as I struggle because I am forced to.

Seeing the procrastination grow in me, even with the easiest of things.

Seeing so clearly how my insecurities are rising to the surface in daily interactions and realizing I have not dealt with them. Do I desire change? Why have I only looked at them?

Realizing how dependent I have been on a “relationship” fixing me. What if I am the only one in need of fixing?

I feel the broken parts of me rising to the surface of me.

I see it, but will I change it?

I stand once again at a precipice of sorts,
a crossroads that begs me the same question:

Will you remain the same,
or embrace the change you so desperately long for?

I’ve sat silent inside me,
seeing the issues, the problems, and such,
but once I find my happy distractions, I allow the dark tides of me to be silenced
just so I can go back to the facade of me.

“I’m ok, I’m fine,” I say.

But am I doing my best?
Is this the best life has to offer,
or is this the best I’ve been willing to offer
in this life?

I find myself
holding back from taking the bet on me,
taking the chance on me,
finally changing me.

I feel the broken,
but why does losing my broken parts feel worse than the changing?

Embracing healthier versions of me
feels foreign.

I have to get used to healthier appetites.
I am well overdue,
but I feel I am afraid of what it costs me.

Or maybe I should ask, what is my lack of change costing me?

Potential relationships, emotional maturity,
access to new levels of good things in my life.

Why have I been afraid to try things, to practice,
to say, “Yeah, that doesn’t serve me anymore”?

Am I that comfortable with comfort?
Has it become a lord and king in my life?
Is comfort my rest,
change my vice?

How have I been ok with the version of me
that likes the broken more than the morphing?

Do I like caterpillars so much more than butterflies?
Do I say I’m hoping I can change without growing pains,
as if it is possible to get wings without the strength and struggle necessary to break free from a cocoon?

Nature, I must learn from you
That there is a season for all things.

A time for falling,
A time to hibernate,
A time of new beginnings,
A time of rejoicing.

If nature bows to rhythms,
Why am I above such limits?
Why do I resist its lessons?
How can I surrender to the season,
Knowing the seasons will always change again?