The Hunger for God

No one tells you healing is lonely.
They say it’s brave, beautiful, even empowering.
What they don’t say is that it feels like exile.

You outgrow dysfunction, and suddenly you’re not invited anymore.
You stop gossiping, and conversations get quiet.
You set a boundary, and people call you difficult.
You say no, and the world gets smaller.
You start telling the truth, and you lose the ones who built their identity on lies.

Healing is holy work. But it’s work done in the wilderness.

So what do you do when you’ve been stripped of false comfort, but haven’t yet reached peace?

You start walking toward God—not the version people sold you, but the real one:
The God who met Hagar in the desert.
The God who strengthened Elijah when he wanted to die.
The God who wrestled with Jacob through the night.
The God who bled, alone, in Gethsemane.

You stop performing. You stop negotiating. You get quiet.
And in the ache, the weeping, the boredom, the rage—you pray.

That’s how you get closer.
Not by faking peace you don’t have.
Not by earning love that’s already yours.

You get closer to God by letting the loneliness crack you open instead of harden you.

By trusting that the silence is not abandonment, but invitation.

And by remembering that healing may feel like isolation, but it’s actually consecration.

You’re not being punished.
You’re being set apart.

B