MAKING PLANS

“Can you pray for me? I’m about to start bawling at work, but I’m trying to keep it together.  I think I’m having a triggered moment.”

This was my text to my sister the other day.  I was completely fine; normal day, good mood, normal work stuff.  Then we had a meeting about development plans and short-term and long-term goals.  Anxiety rose up in me during the meeting. At the time, I was too confused by the whole “goals” versus “development plan” exercise to think about the growing pit in my gut.  We usually have to make our yearly personal and professional goals; these are hard and fast and are what determine merit increases, bonuses, and other business-word stuff. But now we also have to create a short-term (1-3 years) and long-term (3-5 years) “Development Plan.”

I don’t plan like this.  My entire life up to the past three years has been nomadic.  I don’t answer the question “where do you see yourself in 3, 5, 10 years from now?” because I never know...not really.  I don’t plan for something I have never done. Sure, I plan my podcast. I have planned out what I want this year of interviews and release dates to look like.  I have to do this, otherwise I would be a HOT MESS, and there wouldn’t be a podcast (just ask my taskmaster: Brooke). But, honestly, that’s as far as I go.

This past three and a half years I have set a record: my house in Rogers, Arkansas is the longest I have lived in one place since I was 16 years old.  In 23 years I have never lived anywhere for more than three years, and I have never even been at a job for three years.  I moved or went on to the next thing, the next opportunity. Sometimes I was fleeing from hard, and other times I was following God’s lead.  I wrote about that here. I didn’t arrive at my record three years (I’m at 3 ¾ years now!) in a panic or with fear.  I breezed through it with thankfulness and joy. I have continued to be thankful with the weird, wonderful, unexpected life God has given me.

Then this day happened.  I sat in the bathroom crying at the thought of having to write plans for where I’ll be in X-amount of years.

As I wondered to myself why in the world I was so emotional, for a split second an idea came to mind. I shook it off because I can’t blame that for every emotional meltdown I have.  My sister texted; she, of course, needed more information as she was concerned for me.  I texted her about the meeting, that it was about making plans and goals, and that I had the thought “I don’t do this because the last time I did make long-term plans (Ukraine) I got hurt.”  And as I texted that last sentence—the thought I refused to allow be the reason—all the fear rushed out of me in uncontrollable tears.

I didn’t know this was an issue.  I didn’t know this was a trigger.

I’ve had to create goals at a couple of the other jobs I’ve had, but they were kind of a joke, nothing anyone took seriously or even referenced again at the end of the year.  They were to check a company box. So I pulled some fancy “sure I have ambition and care about growth in the area of XYZ” sounding words out of my rear and called it a day. Not here; not at this company I currently work for.  They care. Legit. They mean business with the goals you put on your form (no pun intended), and you bet your sweet bippy we will be reviewing them both throughout, and at the end of, the year. So, ya, they also mean it when they say they want to help you develop as a happy, healthy, productive, and successful employee.  I have to really think about this plan and these goals, and be serious as I write the words. I can’t just pull something out of my rear, as I will actually be held accountable for and challenged by them.

I can expect to be held accountable. I can expect to be cared for. I can expect to be challenged.  I can expect these actions because they have proven to me that they will actually do them: hold me accountable, care for me, and challenge me.  I have never had that. And the one other time I expected those things to happen, I was hurt and broken by it.

I planned to be a missionary for the rest of my life. I planned to live in Ukraine, not just for the initial 2-year commitment, but for the long-haul. I planned to work with a team who would love me and care for me like family. I planned to have a mentor and accountability to help me grow and mature. I planned to be working in youth ministry for the next 3, 5, and 10 years. Then it all went away. All the plans were no more.

My body even reacts to me typing these words.  Who would’ve thought having to write goals and plans for my professional career would be a trigger point for me, sending me into a dark, emotional spiral?  Just when I think I have cleaned out the cobwebs, I run into another. The scars of my trauma: the trust issues, the difficulties in making big life choices, the skepticism of mission work, etc. will always be there and vulnerable to pricking.  Even after all these years, my body, mind, and soul are still healing. Now, though, as I’ve grown and am in a healthier season I can process them, pray through them, and allow myself to feel them.

There’s no “therefore” here, no lesson learned.  It’s just the realization that I still live with that trauma; it’s a part of me, but it does not control me. It will not be an excuse or stop me from growing, moving forward, and making those plans for 3, 5, or 10 years from now.