Day 196: The Weight of the Wait

I once wrote about being 154 days into my own personal wilderness. Today is Day 196.

How vast is this place? They tell you that in times of waiting, you must rely on hope. For a while, shimmers of it kept me moving, fueled by the belief that good things were just around the corner—clinging to the promise that “God works all things for the good of those who love him” (Romans 8:28).

But Day 196 feels heavier than Day 154. Each sunset adds another pound of pressure. No one warned me about the persistent uneasiness deep in my gut, the phantom choking in the back of my throat, or the sensation of a china cabinet pressing against my chest. By Day 196, “hope” starts to feel dangerously like the old adage: “Expectations are just preconceived resentments.”

The Survival Script

I try to stay grounded in the present, but my mind is a nomad in an unknown land. It isn’t even a land of worry—worry requires a subject. This is just the void. There is nothing to consider except surviving another day of silence.

I perform the rituals of “fine”:

• I care for those I love so they don’t have to carry my burden.
• I practice self-care so I don’t descend into madness.
• I make lists of little boxes to check just to watch the hours pass.
• I wait for an answer, a move, a response, an invitation.

But hope gets lost in 196 days of silence. When expectations go unfulfilled, you start to wonder: Why did I dream? Why did I believe? The disappointment feels like a tax I can no longer afford to pay.

The Myth of “Fine”

I have moved into a hidden survival mode. On the outside, the veneer is polished. I list the “good things” because that is the social contract—focus on the positive, push through, keep going.

But as psychologist Susan David points out, this “forced positivity” is a trap. It offers a false sense of control while burning through mental bandwidth, eventually amplifying the very emotions we try to bury. When the bottle finally leaks, the intensity makes it impossible to engage with reality.

So, what if I don’t put a silver lining on this one?

The truth is:

• I’m not fine.
• I feel alone.
• Life is grueling, and the finish line is invisible.
• Even if the circumstances change tomorrow, the “unknown” has become a source of anxiety.

The Turning Point

I am not fine. But I have a sign on my wall that doesn’t ask me to be. It simply says:

God will listen. God will respond. God always loves you. God forgives you. God will comfort you. God will strengthen you. God will help and guide you. God will provide for you. God will be with you.

When I read those words, I don’t have to manufacture a “positive attitude.” I just have to exhale. And in that breath, even on Day 196, I feel hope again.