The Day of Small Things Isn’t Easy

The Day of Small Things Isn’t Easy (#55)

This isn’t a breakthrough post. It’s a check-in. Some things are moving forward, some things are still painfully unresolved, and I’m learning how to live honestly in the middle of that tension. I’ve been thinking a lot about what progress actually looks like right now—not the dramatic kind, but the quiet, uneven kind that doesn’t always feel like success while it’s happening.

This week has been OK, for the most part. I’m mostly recovered from the cold I’ve been dealing with, or at least I’m functional again. I can get things done, which matters more than it probably should.

I went to Whitestone on Tuesday and finished writing and editing my testimony. Next Tuesday, I’ll be sharing it at ARM. I’m praying that it’s received by someone who needs to hear it—not because my life is impressive, but because it’s honest. If the best thing that comes out of my mess is that someone else recognizes they need help too, then it’s worth standing up and telling the truth. I don’t want anyone to be broken. But the reality is that there are a lot of hurting people in this world. If my story helps even one person feel less alone, I’ll consider that a win.

I used to say that my life is a mess. While that might be partly true, it isn’t the whole truth. My life is messy for specific reasons—unresolved childhood trauma, toxic relationships, and unaddressed wounds from the last three and a half years. Those things matter, and they’ve caused real damage.

But there are parts of my life that are not messy. I follow routines. I honor my commitments, even when doing so isn’t easy. I show restraint in situations where, in the past, I wouldn’t have. I’m growing—spiritually and emotionally—in ways I didn’t think were possible before.

There’s a verse that’s been sitting with me lately: “Who despises the day of small things?” (Zechariah 4:10). I understand now why it’s phrased as a question. It’s easy to dismiss routines and restraint when nothing else feels fixed. It’s easy to believe that if life still hurts, then none of this counts. But this is the day I’ve been given, and these are the things I can still do.

A town that’s been through a hurricane might look chaotic afterward, but the destruction isn’t the town’s fault. I’ve had more than one hurricane tear through my life. Early trauma left me poorly equipped to handle the storms that followed, and I didn’t understand that until I was already in the middle of them. Now I’m trying to assess the damage honestly and rebuild what I can, one piece at a time.

Some parts of my life—especially my social life and my anxiety—still feel deeply disordered. I don’t think that’s entirely my fault, but it is my responsibility to work with what’s in front of me.

I hate that I sometimes feel “unique” in my struggle. Intellectually, I know I’m not. There are many people who have wrestled with sexual brokenness from a very young age. Emotionally, though, it can still feel isolating, as if no one else quite understands. This is something I speak about directly in my testimony. My hope is that honesty creates connection—that someone else might recognize themselves and realize they aren’t alone either. I may make a written version of my testimony available next week, after some prayerful consideration.

I spoke with my ex-wife today. I continue to dread these conversations—not out of hostility, but because of the dynamic. I do my best to remain respectful, but they often leave me feeling discouraged and powerless, especially when it comes to the kids. I’m confronted again and again with how little control I actually have.

There is hurt on both sides, and I’ve had to accept that I can’t fix what isn’t mine to fix. All I can do is act with integrity. I try to cooperate, to communicate respectfully, and to avoid making an already difficult situation worse. Contrary to what she may believe, I’m not trying to complicate her life. That wouldn’t benefit anyone, least of all the kids.

These conversations are exhausting. I often feel inadequate afterward—not because I’ve behaved poorly, but because I’m confronting limits I don’t yet know how to work within. I worry deeply about my children, especially when I see the emotional toll this situation takes on them. There are moments when I genuinely don’t know what the right next step is.

Day to day, life remains fairly quiet. I’m working this weekend, going to church, and dealing with the practical realities of the house—like being without power for part of the day while major electrical work is done to support an addition being built. None of this is dramatic. It’s just life happening in the background.

There have been small victories this week. I’ve mostly kept my essential routines intact. I make my bed every day. I keep my room clean. I show up to appointments on time. I meet my obligations. These things may seem insignificant, but right now they’re not. They’re evidence that I’m still standing, still participating in my own life.

One of the hardest truths I’m facing is how lonely I am. I have very little social interaction, and I deeply miss companionship and intimacy. I know I’m not ready for a romantic relationship, but that doesn’t mean the desire for one isn’t real.

For a long time, I was afraid I’d lost my capacity to love altogether. I don’t believe that’s true anymore. What I’m learning instead is that I’m confronting limits I don’t yet know how to work within. I have to learn how to hold desire without acting on it in unhealthy ways. I don’t believe I’m a monster. I don’t believe I’m unlovable. But I do worry that my past will make it difficult for anyone to see who I’m becoming now.

This is where I’m at. Not fixed. Not falling apart. Somewhere in between—doing the small things right while the big things remain unresolved. If you’re reading this and you see yourself somewhere in it, you’re not alone. If you’d like to respond, I invite you to leave a comment or reach out through the contact form. I don’t have all the answers, but I’m committed to telling the truth about where I am—and sometimes, that’s where real connection starts.