CandaceMeiler.com

“I keep fighting voices in my mind that say I’m not enough.” You Say, Lauren Daigle

Have you ever had a dream? One that you weren’t really searching for, but one day it just hit you. This. This is what I want to do with my life. This is what I was meant to do with my life. It’s a scary and uncomfortable feeling, but I think that’s what makes it real.

I work as an executive assistant for a wonderful company. I love my job and could not ask for better people to work with and for. I’m not just saying that, either. I have the best coworkers and bosses. Even with everything I love about my current job, I know that God made me for more than what I’m doing right now. But can’t we all say that? Do we all have more we could be doing with our lives?

In 2007—Yes, 2007—I became obsessed with reading. I read somewhere around 30 books from January to March that year. My birthday is in March and that was the year I turned 29. I had myself a little meltdown because, here I was, turning the crusty, old age of 29 (*insert eye roll emoji*,) and all I could ask myself was “Candace…What have you done with your life? You’ll be 30 in a year and you haven’t accomplished anything you thought you would’ve by now!” My brother and sister had joined the military, and I was so proud of them, but still I felt like I had done nothing meaningful with my life. (Mind you, I was almost ten years into raising my three amazing children and, seeing them now, I know that was the most meaningful thing I needed to do right then. And now, for that matter.)

So, after I said mean and horrible things to myself for a while, I sat down with a notebook and started journaling. Let me just go off on a tangent and say, if you have never journaled, you should try it. It’s very therapeutic and got me through a rough and painful time in my life. And it’s a heck of a lot cheaper than the therapist I was seeing! There’s no shame in that, either. Sometimes you just need an unbiased set of ears to listen and help you process what you’re going through.

Anyway, I was journaling and still reading, too. Then, I thought, “Hey…I think I can do this.” And that’s how I started writing my novel. Page after page, words poured out of me. It was crazy how good it felt and how easy it was for me. So, I wrote and with every word, God planted this dream in my heart to finish my story. By the time I put it all in order on my laptop, I had about 40,000 words written. That’s a little less than half of an average novel. (Trust me. I googled it.) I’m not saying it didn’t need lots and lots of editing, but 40,000 words was a lot for a girl who hadn’t written a paper since college. I was proud!

But I wrote all these words, and then life happened. I got a job, then a different job, and little by little I set my writing aside. I tried to fit it in between everything else, and I did ok for a while. But then, I got a divorce and I didn’t do any writing at all for a long time. The divorce, while ultimately my decision, was one of the most heartbreaking things I’ve ever gone through. (This is where that journal therapy entered.)

How many of you know that when God plants a dream within you, the devil wants to do everything he can to destroy it? First, he’ll steal your time. I mean, a pretty common response to “How have you been?” is “I’ve just been so busy!” I’m guilty. And I am. So. Busy. With life, work, laundry, cooking, cleaning, driving. So. Much. Driving.

But the devil also likes to remind you of your past. You know, the things you’ve asked God to forgive you for, and you know He has, but when you take a step to do what God wants you to do, that little voice says, “But wait…do you really think God would want to use you after all you’ve done wrong?” For me, those voices remind me of my divorce and how much it hurt my children. I picture, like in the old movies, the devil on one shoulder, the angel on the other. That little devil sits there quietly whispering, reminding me of the hurt caused, the friendships lost, the failed marriage. The tears cried.

Still, this dream of finishing my novel will not let me go. It haunts me nearly every day. Yet, it is now 2020, and it still sits there, unfinished. I would like to tell you I’ve made forward progress, or that I have thousands more words written, but I would be lying. I threw my hands up a few years ago and gave up on it. I said to myself, “I give up. I’m not meant for this. All I’ve done is talk about it for years and I can’t seem to finish. So, I quit.” I cried. I was miserable. I was angry. Honestly, it felt like a breakup. That’s when I was certain it wasn’t just something I wanted. It was what God wanted. I’m happy to say, after one whole day, my novel and I got back together, but nothing really changed—unless you count about 974 changes to the story line.

The funny thing is, I can visualize my book in print. I see it on the shelves in stores, on Amazon. I literally see myself at a book signing or speaking at a conference—and people (besides my family) are actually there! (Along with these scenarios, there are usually murmurings from the crowd about how I’m really not that good.)

I even carry my little flash drive around with me. Everywhere. I’ve done this for years. I want to protect it and I know it is safest with me. I keep it tucked right in there with my lip gloss, hand sanitizer, ink pen, and, usually, a small pack of tissues…you know, all the necessities. Yet, day after day, my laptop sits there unopened.

Yes, I have moments when I am hard on myself for my physical appearance. I have bad hair days, I notice more wrinkles than I used to, a little more silver in my hair with each passing year (which happens to coincide with kids graduating or getting drivers licenses,) and my body just isn’t what it used to be. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a gallon of hair dye, a tub of eye cream, and a million squats and crunches. For the most part, I’ve come to terms with all of this. C’est la vie.

But what really holds me back from writing is me. Because I can’t help but hear those dang voices relentlessly reminding me that I’m not good enough. Even as I write this, I’m trying to talk myself out of posting it because maybe it’s too much information about my life or maybe those who already know I’m writing a book are tired of hearing about it. If the former is the case, this is how I see it: If sharing something tough I’ve gone through inspires even one person, then I’ll be happy to know I didn’t go through it for nothing. If the latter is the case, trust me—I annoy myself, too, so get in line.

I know someone out there can relate. Maybe those voices are people from your past or maybe it’s just you not believing in yourself. I’ve learned to recognize those voices for what they are—a silly nuisance. A distraction. Just tell those voices to shut up and go about your business. That’s what I’m attempting with my new blog.

Here is what I want you to know: I am enough. You are enough. We’ve got this. We can do hard things. Be strong. Be courageous. Be you.

Believe what God says and He says You. Are. Enough.