Taking A Life to Live One

Journal Entry: The Night Everything Changed – One Year Ago

Dear Journal,

A year ago today.

The day I died, drowned, and went blind.

Last year, an unforeseen crisis shattered my semblance of control. It was a day like any other until it wasn’t. My world spiraled into chaos I hadn’t foreseen nor could comprehend. A panic attack gripped me with such ferocity that it stripped away all my usual facades of resilience and stability. In those moments, I was lost in a terrifying haze of anxiety, unable to function, each breath a battle against an invisible foe that overwhelmed my senses.

As the clock struck 11 PM on March 4th, I completely lost it. The weight of despair and brokenness was unbearable. I was frozen, incapable of moving through the fog of torment that clouded my mind and spirit. The night dragged on, endless and merciless.

The morning that followed was no less challenging. I found myself completely unable to fulfill my duties. Preaching, fellowship, even opening the Bible—activities that had always been sources of strength—now felt insurmountable. I was adrift, disconnected from my essence and the spiritual anchors that had grounded me so long.

In my place, my co-pastor—my brother in spirit—stepped up to the pulpit. As I listened to the live stream from the confines of my darkened room, a simple yet profound statement from his sermon cut through the noise of my inner turmoil:

“It’s OK to not be OK.”

Those words, spoken with such sincerity and compassion, reached me in my place of isolation. They did not magically dispel the darkness, but they sparked a small, stubborn flame of hope.

It was the truth of this statement that made me live.

Jesus also suffered. He also cried. He also grieved… and He is perfect. Thus, there was, for the first time in my 48 years of life, a sense of hope that I indeed was not broken, not worthless, not a harrowed leftover of imposter syndrome. Hearing that affirmation, that it was acceptable to be in this state, began a subtle shift within me. It didn’t solve everything—far from it—but it allowed me to begin accepting my vulnerabilities without the harsh judgment I usually imposed on myself. It marked the start of a new understanding, a new way of allowing myself to heal and to be human.

This experience, as harrowing as it was, has started to reshape my approach to my own mental health and how I counsel others. Vulnerability, I’ve learned, isn’t the enemy of strength but a profound aspect of it. It connects us in our shared human experience, teaching us compassion, empathy, and the real meaning of resilience.

With a heart learning to be open,

James