Turn Toward the Sun

Releasing What If and Embracing What Is

Mandy Hale

• Publisher: Revell
• Year: 2022
• Print ISBN: 9780800738822
• eBook ISBN: 9781493436262
• Topic: Teologia e religione
• Subtopic: Religione

If recent world events have taught us anything, it's that life doesn't always look the way we want it to look. And while we can't control the curveballs life throws at us, we can control our response to them. We can choose to loosen our grip on what we think life is "supposed" to be and embrace life for exactly what it is--messiness and mayhem and all. We can choose to stubbornly turn toward the sun, even as the storm rages around us. That surrender is where true happiness and peace lie.

With insights born from her own hard-won battles, Mandy Hale turns her attention (and her sizable wit) to showing you what she's learned about letting go of the desire to control everything in life. With the honesty and authenticity she's known for, Mandy inspires you to stop striving, live in the moment, sit with your experiences, and trust God with the unknown.

Like sunflowers that turn toward the sun that helps them grow tall and strong, we can turn to friends, family, and faith for strength in difficult times.

If you've felt depleted or despairing as you've wrestled with circumstances beyond your control, you will find in Mandy a kind and trustworthy guide through the storm.

1
It’s the End of the World as We Know It

Day 6 of self-isolation: I just caught myself having a full-blown conversation with my cat. Send help.

I remember a time before the words Covid and coronavirus were a part of our daily vernacular. It’s a distant memory . . . but it’s a fond one.

In January or February of 2020, I started hearing whispers of these words on social media, faint at first. So faint, I paid them little attention and continued on about my life. The idea of a global pandemic shutting down society felt more like something from a movie than anything I thought I would ever experience in real life.

As February went on, the whispers grew a little louder. Covid was officially in the US, and the danger of it becoming a great big, major deal was growing exponentially every single day.

Day 8 of self-isolation: Might put on pants today.

I still didn’t quite grasp what a “global pandemic” meant. I remember hearing all the rumors that the country was going to be shut down for a few weeks and we would all be on lockdown, and as someone who has a deep fondness for apocalyptic TV shows, books, and movies, I foolishly felt almost a little . . . excited? I realize how insane that sounds now, but remember: the emerging pandemic was on a scale that few people had seen in our lifetime, so how was I to know what we were up against? None of us knew. And I don’t think any of us dared to imagine, even in our worst nightmares, the level of havoc and death and destruction Covid would ultimately go on to wreak on our country and our world. In my mind, I thought we’d all stay home for a couple of weeks, giving me an excuse to do two of my favorite things—watch movies and read—the threat would dissipate, and we’d all be back to business as usual. I think that’s what most of us were thinking.

I remember going out to lunch one final time with two of my girlfriends in late February and, immediately afterward, going to the grocery store to stock up on food and prepare to batten down the hatches for a week or two. I had no way of knowing then that it would be the last time I would set foot in a grocery store for a year.

March 2020 arrived—a month that I am convinced will go down as the longest month in the history of the world—and the whispers became a shout. It was the end of the world as we knew it . . . and the reality of what was happening started to sink in. Schools closed. Businesses closed. People started working from home. Major world events, like the Olympics, started to get canceled or postponed, one by one by one. Covid officially arrived in Tennessee, where I live. The death toll began to slowly rise. Now the pandemic wasn’t just a vague concern; it was a genuine threat. And my anxiety kicked in, hard core.

I’ve talked very openly about my anxiety on my blog, on my social media feeds, and in my books. I’ve suffered from anxiety for pretty much my entire life, and I’ve been diagnosed with panic disorder and generalized anxiety disorder. My anxiety is worse at some times than at others and is typically triggered by major life changes or events. It’s also gone into what I think of as “remission” for years at a time, otherwise known as blissful seasons in which it will scarcely show its face. But in March 2020, it reared its ugly head in a whole new and uniquely awful manifestation—health anxiety. Suddenly everything and everyone seemed fraught with danger. Every sniffle and sneeze felt like coronavirus had invaded my body. Three other women and I lived in a house divided into apartments, which had always felt like a safe haven. Now it suddenly felt like a hotbed of germs. Could Covid be transmitted through the air vents? No one seemed to know. The what ifs were absolutely terrorizing me. What if I get Covid? What if I die? What if my parents get it? WHAT IF, WHAT IF, WHAT IF?!

Day 10 of self-isolation: Today the tears came. And I’m letting myself have a good cry.

All of this might sound crazy to people who have never dealt with anxiety and/or panic attacks, but any situation with a perceived lack of control sends my anxiety spiraling. And what on earth could be less controllable than a deadly and highly contagious virus? Especially one we had never dealt with and that even the smartest and most educated scientists knew very little about. Every day I would wake up and monitor my body for symptoms. I checked my temperature at least five times a day. One morning, it was 99.1, and I was convinced the ’Rona had come for me. Panic became my moment-by-moment reality. The daily what ifs were literally driving me crazy.

Day 13 of self-isolation: Today has been horrible, anxiety-wise. But I met with my therapist online earlier, wearing pajamas and crazy hair, and was met with nothing but calming reassurance. So onward we go.

As she usually does when I’m camping out in the what if and spiraling into an anxiety free fall, my wonderful therapist talked me down. “Mandy, you have to stop living to die and start living to live,” she said. “You’re taking all the precautions. You’re being safe. You have to get out of the what if and live in the what is. Most of what you are worrying about will never happen.”

We kicked up our biweekly sessions to weekly, a change that has remained in place to this day. And slowly, as she had advised, I began to pull myself out of the what if and come back to the what is. If you don’t have a therapist, or if you don’t have a good one, I can’t recommend enough that you do some research and find someone you feel comfortable opening up to and allowing to speak into your life. Therapy has literally saved me, more than once. Even through a computer screen, my therapist was able to reach out and pull me out of a quickly spiraling black hole. Day by day, moment by moment, I started to accept and even acclimate to my new and unusual circumstances.

Day 23 of self-isolation: Feeling productive today. Might put on actual clothes and reintroduce myself to my bra today. (Or not.)

I didn’t start marking my days of self-isolation on Twitter until Day 6—and I would go on to do so, every single day, until Day 100. Then I would continue to do so sporadically for the next 265 days, as my self-induced quarantine would go on to last the greater part of a year. When I say “self-isolation,” I don’t mean that I literally didn’t see any humans or leave my house for a year. I saw my parents and my sister and her family, and I went to the bank and to the doctor and to the bookstore a couple of times, and I saw a few friends outside and from a safe distance. My parents and I even traveled to the Smoky Mountains in April 2020. So I didn’t cut myself off from society and become the troll under the bridge. But I was about as cautious as a person could be.

A word to those of you who might think I was overreacting:

To some, Covid was no big deal. A lot of you probably went about your lives pretty much like normal. And that’s fine, if that’s what you felt led to do. Fine for you. For me, it was a very big deal. For one, we lost millions of people around the globe to this awful illness. I lost my great-aunt to it. I watched my cousins suffer her loss. I watched various social media friends grieve family members and other loved ones. I knew lots of other people who got very, very sick from it. So whether or not it happened to touch you personally . . . it was a big deal to me, and it was a big deal to countless others.

Aside from the obvious reasons why I was taking Covid so seriously, I wasn’t eager to see how my anxiety and Covid would mix. Anything that makes me feel like I can’t breathe can trigger a panic attack, meaning a disease like Covid is pretty much my worst nightmare come to life. And finally, my parents are my best friends and were my primary social circle throughout the pandemic. Though they wouldn’t be diagnosed with cancer for six more months, I felt frantic to protect them from Covid, even without knowing how truly high-risk they were. I constantly scoped out eBay in search of disinfecting wipes, Lysol spray, masks, and gloves when they all became scarce on other platforms. I made sure my mom and dad had any and every supply they could possibly need to stay safe. And I admittedly, if somewhat ashamedly, joined in on the great toilet paper hoarding of 2020, stalking various online vendors for hours on end so I could snatch up rolls whenever they became available. (Something about running out of toilet paper made me feel especially anxious and vulnerable.) In other words, I was truly living my best life. (Pause here to note the obvious sarcasm.)

Day 38 of self-isolation: I just got toilet paper delivered, and I felt like a kid in a candy store, I was so excited!

Outside of my frantic toilet paper bingeing, I was starting to settle into a fairly content existence. My inner introvert had started to see the benefits of “normal” life coming to a grinding halt. Once I stopped scanning my body for Covid symptoms every day and stopped convincing myself that every sniffle or sneeze surely signaled the end for me, I looked around and realized that quarantine life was a little lonely, yes—but overall, surprisingly not so bad. No one else was really being super social during that time, so I didn’t have FOMO (fear of missing out) when I would browse my social media platforms. I could wear lounge clothes all day, every day. I could catch up on that stack of unread books that was calling my name. I could bake and take naps and sit on my balcony and meditate and watch movies and color and basically do whatever I wanted. I had never felt more grateful for my career path than I did during those long months of solitude. I didn’t have to show up to an office every day and worry about being exposed to a ton of other people. I didn’t have to worry about getting laid off or furloughed like so many people did. My heart still bleeds for all the people who lost jobs and houses and life savings and career security and livelihoods during that uncertain time. Though I was dealing with my own fears and uncertainties and stressors, I knew how very fortunate I was, and it made me want to step out of the what if and into the what is even more. Gratitude will always pull you out of what could have been and plant you firmly into what is and what could still be.

About once a day, my downstairs neighbor would play her piano for thirty minutes or so. I would turn off my television and get super quiet so I could sit and listen to her play. She didn’t know it at the time, but that quickly became my favorite part of the day. In those early days, I wasn’t around anyone—even my parents—for weeks, so the sound of her fingers dancing across the keyboard became extremely comforting to me. I particularly enjoyed her rendition of “It Had to Be You.” I think those are the moments from the early days of the pandemic that I’ll look back on forever with such sweetness: that time in April 2020 when we were all weary and anxious and locked in our houses and still . . . the music played. God bless the creators.

God especially bless the creators who were able to continue creating during those weird days. I figured out quickly that while other people were “hustling and grinding” their way through the pandemic, I wasn’t going to be one of those people.

Day 45 of self-isolation: I’ve made peace with the fact that I am not going to be that person who thrives in quarantine. I’m not going to start a podcast. I’m not going to lose twenty pounds. I’m not going to be the Moses of this operation and lead everyone out of the wilderness. And I’m okay with that.

A lot of people asked me, “Are you writing during this time?” And the answer was NO. I was barely even posting on social media. I had just finished a book. I knew I would be working on the next one (this one!) soon enough. I was just living. Breathing. Resting. Surviving. And I was completely at peace with that.

I knew someday I would be ready to write words again, and I hoped they would be good words and helpful words and meaningful words and deep words. But I also knew you couldn’t have a story to tell if you didn’t first live the story and survive the story. In spring 2020, I was living and surviving. It’s okay if that’s what you were doing too. It’s even okay if that’s what you’re doing now. We all went through intense collective trauma for a solid year, and you don’t just “bounce back” from that like you would a bad date or a rough day at work.

Sometimes, letting go of what if and learning to live in what is is about thriving. And other times it’s about simply surviving. Learning to accept your circumstances with peace and finding contentment in the midst of the chaos doesn’t mean you have to make friends with the chaos or be happy about the circumstances. I could be content with my life as it was in that season and still wish things were different. Same for you in whatever season you happen to be in right now. This is all part of what it means to turn toward the sun. It doesn’t mean you have to turn every lemon into lemonade. It just means you have to learn to accept that lemons are an unavoidable part of life and deal with it. I honestly think sometimes it’s a lot braver to learn to just sit with the lemons as they are rather than frantically try to turn them into lemonade.

If there was any lemonade that came out of the twilight zone known as the pandemic, I think it was that I learned, perhaps for the first time in my life, how to just . . . be. I gave myself permission to stop asking questions and stop searching for answers and stop making things happen and stop doing, doing, doing and going, going, going, and I learned how to just be. To be still, to be quiet, to be alone, to be content . . . with just me. No one else. Just me. It really is a beautiful thing learnin...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Endorsements
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Contents
• Introduction
• 1. It’s the End of the World as We Know It
• 2. Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?
• 3. Have We Met Before?
• 4. An Endless Night . . . and Then, the Sun
• 5. How I Lost Love and Found Myself
• 6. Planting My Own Garden and Decorating My Own Soul
• 7. What If He’s the One?
• 8. How to Let Go of Love
• 9. To the Man I Thought Was “the One”
• 10. Turning Toward the Son
• 11. No One Is Forever 21
• 12. Navigating Adult Friendships
• 13. Decoding Mysterious Male Behavior
• 14. Anxiety
• 15. What If I’m Not Enough?
• Epilogue
• Acknowledgments
• Notes
• About the Author
• Back Cover