Today was one of those days. The kind of day where it was sunny outside but foggy in my head; where every glance at my piles of laundry and scatters of papers was not a reason to take action, but instead a reason to furrow my brow and feel sorry for myself. It was the kind of day where every single molehill, no matter how tiny, seemed like an everest-sized mountain to climb.

And I have oh-so-many molehills.

That’s the problem with these kind of days; they find me when I need them least. This is, has been, and I fear will continue to be my pattern for dealing with life. I roar ahead full throttle on projects that I care about until the details of my life come knocking at my door and my to-do list grows too long—and then I shut down. I can’t answer emails, I can’t work on photos, I can hardly bear to lift my head off the pillow in the morning. Wake me up when life is easy, please.

It doesn’t work, of course. This perverse determination to procrastinate is not the least bit relaxing; it gives me chills and makes me nauseous and feels like a hundred-pound weight on my shoulders. Please, Lord, hurry up and make life easy.

I won’t pretend for a moment that I’m proud of this behavior. It is sick and wrong and irresponsible. (If only correctly labeling it as such made it easier to stop.) But the sick, wrong, irresponsible truth is that my broken spirit often reaches this point of desperation; the point at which doing nothing seems so incredibly much easier than doing something.

And it’s at that point that I realize how much I need help; how much I’m not going to crawl my way out of this canyon on my own—little, tiny, powerless, human me.

Thankfully, we tiny, powerless humans are not alone. Which is good, because I don’t know if you noticed, but life doesn’t really get easy. But even though it’s not easy, it’s time… time for me to pull myself out of this mire of self-pity and sloth, brush myself off, and keep moving forward.

Please, Lord, help me keep moving forward.