The Quiet Hours

Below is something that I wrote many months ago titled, “The Quiet Hours.” Please pay attention to the word choice… how it makes you feel. This is an honest declaration at a time when I was trying to recover from immense pain. I’m not a professional writer by any means. This was something that I blurted onto the note section of my iPhone in about 30 minutes as tears of relief strolled down my face. I wasn’t going to share, but I think it is important to be transparent. It is important to show how anybody, no matter the person or the strength of their faith, can somehow, unexpectedly, find themselves at rock bottom. Please remember that while this was in the past, and I am so excited to be on a path of happiness and growth, these things still linger and I want to show you what that looked like.

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“In the quiet hours of the night, my mind travels to my own sand dune enriched desert. Endless voids of harsh, lifeless terrain. Tormented quiet. Trapped. Isolated. No way out. Obsessed with the insignificant, minute details of a time long passed; I climb and I climb but I cannot find the strength to escape. A time when a single heart would pound and tears stained my cheeks. In those quiet hours, distant memories feel like harsh realities. Even now, I feel the tightness in my chest – a constricting boa straining against its prey – an innocent soul caught in the roaring crossfire of ridicule and shame. But was I innocent, really? Truly? I allowed this to happen, after all. Wise women preach to keep the heart guarded. But oh, I felt too safe within the glimmering facade of protection. So I exposed my heart to the firing squad… and I felt pain.

Ha. What a naive expectation to think otherwise. Stupid girl. How foolish I was for thinking I could find solace with a mental beast. So power-hungry, strong, cruel, controlling, calculating, and ready to kill. I was merely in the way… a target with their back turned. Blind to anticipation. Flashes of pain reverberate against the back of my eyes as I recall the shaking, the gasps, the panic, the fear of my fully-realized hamartia. Everyone has one – a hamartia. Did you know that? A fatal flaw. Weakness. Chink in the armor. The tarnishing, exploitative, corroding opinions of others found itself invading the innermost corners of my soul and no matter how hard I tried, I could not get them to find residence elsewhere. I was doomed; doomed to the same fate that Kings and Queens of ancient lore encountered when the intimate secrets of their hamartia were revealed for all of their enemies to see. Death. Any joy I had was instantly put to rest, buried beneath the strategically placed dirt of my enemies. There was no more hiding my pain behind towers of protection. I felt raw. Naked. Exposed and Emotional. Isolated and locked within the tumultuously chaotic vault of inflicting self-reflection and destruction. The Daily Cycle.

But as my quiet hours dip into day, the morning sun washes the slate clean, and I am temporarily left with three gifts: lingering smiles, lessons learned, and light. Always light – no matter how dim or how quickly it fades. Quite a contrast, isn’t it? A whiplash-inducing reaction infused with addictive relief. I had been deprived. dehydrated. drained of the only nutrient that mattered – safety. Warm hugs and venting sessions with loved ones bring quick-fix comfort and for a short time, I forget. I lose sight of my haunting ghosts. I live in a state of blinded bliss. Enchantment and ignorance entwined in one. I’m happy and eager and passionate and there are times for a quick second, in the middle of sweeping Cherry trees and I love yous and it’s okays and that will never happen agains and its different this times and we are here for yous, that I naively believe it’s safe to fully let my guard down again. Just let one person in. How could that hurt? They’re nothing like the others. But, oh, dear Bailey, daylight only lingers for 10 hours a day in winter. And soon enough, whether I want it to or not, each glimmer of the moon snaps my aggressively retrospective mind back into ruminative focus.

Charming inspirations crafted by people with good intentions try to encourage tortured souls like me that was has passed is the past. Simple as that.


Do they not understand?

My memories might be cemented and rooted in a time long gone, but its blossoming branches still linger. Still scratch. Still pound against the wind-whipped walls of my heart.

And oh, how I wish they wouldn’t.”

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Even now, reading this pangs my heart and makes me emotional. It is hurtful to imagine the grip that anxiety (in all its forms) had on my life and how it controlled every move I made for an entire year. In a way, it almost feels as if all of this pain was a nightmare – a figment of my imagination. I wish I could cling to that understanding, but I am too smart to completely believe it. I cannot describe how thankful I am that God carried me out of this darkness, but even now I feel his presence telling me that there are others who still feel this every day… who’s branches of depression, anxiety, and fear claw at their weary hearts. I have to keep writing for both myself, and those just like me.

For my entire life, I always imagined a time when my writing would see the light of day. For some reason, I feel like the Lord has led me here and has asked me to share the innermost troubles of my heart. I have always been quiet about my faith. While the root of this characteristic can be found within a realm of insecurities, I knew that I had to overcome them in some way. I had to conquer my quiet hours. This resulted in the Beautifully Broken platform. I am not sure what kind of content may appear on this page. I am not sure if you will love my writing. I am not sure of many things, frankly. All I am sure of is that I am a beautiful child of God almighty, and THAT is incredible in and of itself. I cannot wait to take the fire I have for the Lord and spark His flame in as many places as possible. Even if I only have one reader to relate to in this world, then that makes it all worth it. Please share – not for my own personal gain, but simply for the weary soul who needs to hear this. 🙂 Have a great day.


I Guess Introductions Are in Order?

Thanks for joining me!

Good morning, good afternoon, and goodnight – whichever fits. My name is Bailey and I am a young lady from the Western Kentucky area. I am a passionate gal whose heart beats wildly for all sorts of things like pasta, bread, movie scores, typewriters, the Kentucky Wildcats, my Samoyed puppy named Bear, and my man – JC (AKA: Jesus Christ). I just recently graduated college with a bachelors degree so I am officially part of the “real world” now. As scary as it can be every now and then, I am proud to be making a small difference in my community.

So, I go into more detail in my first official post as to why I started “Beautifully Broken,” but I will give a quick synopsis on here. To recap, 2018 slapped me in the face, metaphorically speaking. I was faced with more conflict than I had ever encountered before and I was confronted head on with lingering insecurities that I never wanted to see the light of day. It was mentally, emotionally, and physically draining to keep up the facade of joy and peace. To the untrained eye, I appeared just fine. But, in reality, I was the definition of a hot mess.

The other day, I was reading a devotional when I realized that, despite the reality of my past being in the past, 2018 was still weighing heavily on my heart. My brokenness did not go away like I hoped it would. In fact, it grew stronger – manifesting in the quiet hours of the night like a thief fully prepared to steal my newfound happiness. I am a soldier still bleeding from battle – and the quick patch-up job I did was not doing the trick. I need healing and STAT.

Thus, leading me to Beautifully Broken – a safe space for storytelling.

My goal with Beautifully Broken is not to teach someone how to be the perfect Christian, because – let’s be real, that does not exist. Trust me. Besides, perfectionism and Christianity is kind of an oxymoron anyway. My goal, is to use this platform as a way for me to reflect on my brokenness, heal, and grow in my walk with the Lord. It is a journey. Keep in mind, in every journey story ever told throughout literature, the path is never without bumps. It is raw, emotional, real, and honest. I’m not sure what tone this platform will embody over the next few months, but I know that it will lead me to a place more open than I have ever been before. Would you care to walk in this journey with me? Who knows, maybe you might find a little bit of yourself within these posts. Either way, as Soul Scripts eloquently puts it… your brokenness is welcome here.

Just know… no matter how broken you feel, you will never be anything less than beautiful in God’s eyes.