Thank God spring is here! This past winter was surprisingly difficult, so I am overjoyed to see daffodils and other spring flowers blooming. They are symbolic of my heart opening to receive the love and mercy of Jesus after several long, cold months of struggles.

On any regular day, I exude the sort of energy that says, “I am friendly, helpful and safe! Approach freely!” Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll almost all conclude that I’m rarely at a loss for words, ideas or activities. Put me in a room with Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Corrections officials, prison wardens, outside volunteers or inmate peers and I can manage a conversation with ease. My natural joie de vivre is a gift that I share freely.

But January hit me like a wrecking ball. At first, I thought it was just an emotional downturn after all the holiday hoopla. It wasn’t. This was bigger, a seismic internal shift that sent an undercurrent of sadness and angst coursing through my system. My chatty extrovert self turned inward and reflectively, solemnly quiet.

It is because when 2023 became 2024, the incomprehensible became my reality: I am on the cusp of 30 years of incarceration and still don’t know when it will end. Even though I knew it was approaching, the utter starkness of its truth knocked the wind out of me, leaving me speechless. My heart broke anew for everyone and everything associated with my tragic crime and I couldn’t put the pieces back together.

An emotional and spiritual battle was being fought. On one side were guilt, responsibility, shame, remorse, despair and hurt; on the other side were forgiveness, healing, mercy, understanding, hope and grace. A different pair would duke it out every day and it was exhausting!

Years of therapy and programing have taught me to ask for help. I have learned to share my struggles and allow others to share their expertise or insight. That’s not something I did before coming to prison -- I kept all my unhealthy relationship problems, fears and situations to myself, which was a huge mistake. I suffered in silence and alone, which led to catastrophe. But now I willingly lay out my pain for emotional or spiritual surgery and risk being vulnerable for the sake of healing.

So I doubled down on counseling sessions with the chaplain and mental health to figure out how best to cope with this winter of my discontent, and both had helpful insight. I came to realize the primary casualty of this mess was my loss of words. I felt like I had nothing interesting or worthwhile to share with people anymore. For someone who loves to talk and write, this was a very unsettling discovery. My words and creative ideas had gone into hibernation and lay dormant no matter how hard I tried to pump some energy into them. I still wrote letters and talked on the phone, but it was challenging because my brain felt as empty and desolate as the frozen prison yard.

Thankfully, there was always compassion and love being directed to me from the other side of the fence. I noticed my loss of words most dramatically, though, in my prayers. They felt “off.” I’d grown so much in my relationship with God over the past several years that it was disappointing and frustrating to not know what to pray or how to say it now! Like a record with a scratch, my prayers were desperately repetitive and just going in circles. Arrrgh!

I was lamenting this bizarre phenomenon with my mom during one of our visits. As only a mother can do, and with spotlight clarity, she said, “Maybe God wants you to be still and know He is God. Maybe He wants you to be quiet so He can talk for a while.” I knew she was right the minute she said it -- Thanks Mom! I’d been doing all of the taking, trying to fight all of the battles and not giving God the chance to do anything at all. No wonder I was weary.

Her comment also brought to mind Romans 8:26-27. “In the same way, the Holy Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.” If I would just be still and be quiet, the Holy Spirit would bridge the gap between my intention and my ability to pray (wordlessly!), God would have a chance to answer, and change would happen.

I was willing to be quiet now that it was intentional instead of accidental and stressful. Surrendering to the Holy Spirit in this way took some practice, but eventually I got the hang of it. My anxiety and sadness dwindled as I trusted God more. Peace settled on the battlefield as I understood there was an acceptable, appropriate time to address each emotion involved. I found balance between words and quiet, work and rest. I regained the inner fortitude needed to make it through the season.

Slowly, my spiritual winter thawed to become a beautiful spring. As God does for every flower in the field, He helped me grow and instilled a newness in my heart. And I am filled with peace, gratitude and joie once again.

Michele Williams is an inmate at the Ohio Reformatory for Women in Marysville.