I hate that I’m struggling with this so much.

With moving.

With this job.

With moving on.

With where I work.

With the little money that I’m making for a job that asks so much of me emotionally.

I moved into this season with a God confidence like never before. It was the first time in my life where I felt like I was moving in the very same direction God wanted me to be in. And I guess because I felt so adamant that I was doing what God called me to do, I failed to prepare for how difficult and emotionally taxing it would be.

It isn’t even 9:00am yet. It’s Monday. My week has barely started, and I’ve already locked myself in the single stall restroom across the hall from my office, crying and frustrated at myself for not being tougher.

I have ten more months of this. And it hasn’t even gotten bad. I know this because my supervisor has warned me, “it’s only going to get harder.”

Ugh. God, why did you bring me here. Why did you choose to place me here, in Kensington, where I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, worried if I smile at anyone or anything I’ll blow my cover of not being from here. Of being scared.

I said I wanted to be uncomfortable. I wanted to go where God wanted me to go.

Well, I’m here now. And it’s a lot harder than I ever could have imagined.

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