Showing Up When You Don’t Feel Like You Belong

 Yesterday I was struggling with depression and a lot of self-doubt.

It was our Christmas party at Wendy’s.

I don’t usually go to work parties. They make me uncomfortable. Too many people. Too much small talk. Too many reminders that I don’t quite fit anywhere yet.

I almost didn’t go. I paid the $15 anyway. It wasn’t about the money. It was about whether I felt like I belonged enough to justify showing up.

Most of my coworkers are close to half my age. We don’t share history, culture, or life experience. I feel it every shift—in the jokes I don’t quite get and the references that miss me entirely.

None of them know my past. At least, I don’t think they do. Sometimes I wonder if someone knows and is just polite enough not to say anything. That thought never fully leaves me.

The store manager is about my age and generally kind. There’s one supervisor a bit older than me who I like, but we rarely work together. A couple of Indian supervisors treat me well. Good people. Younger than me, but decent. That matters more than age.

I know this job is temporary. I’m not building my future at Wendy’s. This is a season, not a destination. Still, seasons shape you whether you want them to or not.

I try to be a light at work. I don’t preach. I don’t corner anyone. I just try to be steady, kind, and present. I want people to feel something different around me, even if they can’t name it. Some days I succeed. Some days I don’t.

I worry a lot. About my past. About whether it will come back up. About whether it will cost me something again. I know Matthew 6 says not to worry—but knowing Scripture and living it are two very different things.

This season of my life feels strange. Starting over does that. Everything feels new, and somehow fragile. In uncomfortable ways, I feel like a teenager again—emotionally raw, uncertain, feeling things I haven’t felt in years.

I’m trying to move through this with grace. I’m trying things I never would have tried in my prior life. And “prior life” really does feel like the right phrase. Scripture says the old self is dead and we are made new (2 Corinthians 5:17). I don’t think that means we wake up finished. I think it means we wake up unfinished—but facing the right direction.

For now, I’ve decided not to date unless something becomes unmistakably clear. I need to get my footing first. I need stability before I invite someone else into the wreckage I’m still cleaning up. I’m vulnerable, and I’m not sure I’m ready to trust again.

That doesn’t mean the desire is gone. I’m a man. I’m very much alive. There were attractive women there, but I wouldn’t dare rock the boat that is my life right now. Even offering a simple compliment made me feel exposed. I want to be raw—but I can’t let my guard down yet.

I keep telling myself that the self-doubt and self-loathing are lies from the enemy—that they don’t reflect how God sees me, or how He wants me to see myself. Still, I worry about how others see me. Given my circumstances, that feels almost unavoidable.

As for the depression, I try to put on a brave face—but that’s easier said than done. Very few people know what I’m carrying. Despite my best efforts, I wasn’t projecting joy. I was carrying pain.

I talk about my kids sometimes. No one I work with—apart from the friend who got me the job—has ever met them. Carrying them quietly is part of how I survive this season. I guess I don’t have anything to prove.

But yesterday, despite the doubt and the depression, I went.

I showed up.

And right now, that counts for more than it probably should—but it counts.

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