A Lamp at My Feet, Not a Spotlight
For the last several years in therapy, my therapist and I have kept returning to one theme: rhythm. We usually call it cadence, but we have also named it pace and consistency. I used to treat healing like a sprint, as if intensity could substitute for wisdom. When I felt hope, I pushed hard. When I felt fear, I pushed harder. Over time I learned that constant pushing does not always produce growth. It often produces exhaustion, and exhaustion makes my mind louder. Cadence became my way of staying close to what is real, so I can keep showing up.
A few weeks ago at church, our preacher gave me a picture that clarified what I have been learning. She said to keep the lamp at our feet instead of staring at the spotlight in the distance. That image landed because it describes how stress works. When I lock onto the far off spotlight, I start living in the future. I stop noticing what is good and real today. I miss the gift of the journey because I am busy trying to fast forward to an outcome.
If I look too far ahead at the spotlight, I do not get to enjoy the journey. I turn life into checkpoints and deadlines. I measure my worth by how close I am to “better.” I overlook small mercies, small repairs, and small victories. I forget that progress can be quiet, and quiet does not mean nothing is happening. If I look too far at the spotlight, I also stop seeing what is right at my feet. That is how pitfalls happen. I miss fatigue building. I ignore warning signs. I overcommit. I skip meals. I trade sleep for productivity. I delay the hard conversation that would have protected peace. I tell myself it will be fine because I am focused on the goal, but the ground beneath me is changing. Pitfalls rarely begin as disasters. They begin as small missteps that stack up until the fall feels sudden.
Psalm 119:105 gives the lamp image its meaning: “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” Psalm 119 is a long prayer that celebrates God’s Word as guidance for real life, not just inspiration. Over and over, the writer returns to one truth: God’s instruction is trustworthy, and it steadies a person who wants to keep walking faithfully. In the ancient world, a lamp was a small oil light carried close to the ground. It did not flood the horizon or reveal every detail in the distance. It gave enough light for the next steps and enough light to keep you from stumbling. The point is not that God withholds clarity to be cruel. The point is that God provides direction that is close, practical, and timely.
That is where the verse becomes more than poetry for me. A lamp at my feet is practical leadership for an anxious mind. It reminds me that demanding total certainty can be its own trap. Lamp light invites a better practice: take the next right step, then take the next one. Cadence grows the same way. It is built through small choices I can repeat, especially on ordinary days when no one is applauding and nothing feels dramatic.
Therapy has helped me translate that into daily choices. A lamp at my feet means I do not have to solve my entire life to take a wise step today. It means I can slow down enough to notice what is true, then choose what is needed. Sometimes the next step is rest. Sometimes it is action. Sometimes it is asking for help early instead of waiting for a crisis. Cadence is not about one perfect speed. It is about staying present enough to enjoy the journey and alert enough to avoid the pitfalls.
This is where The Four Pillars Model becomes practical for me. In the Psychiatry Pillar, the lamp at my feet looks like protecting sleep, taking medication as prescribed, and paying attention to mood shifts without panic or self-blame. In the Therapy Pillar, it looks like practicing skills before crisis, naming patterns honestly, and choosing one clear boundary instead of making dramatic vows. In the Family Pillar, it looks like staying reachable, letting trusted people notice changes, and choosing connection over isolation. In the Faith Community Pillar, it looks like worship, prayer, Scripture, and people who remind me that I belong even when I feel unsure.
Here is the change I am practicing now. I still have goals, but I refuse to let the spotlight steal my life or trip me into a ditch. I want to enjoy the journey, and I want to watch my footing. I know that sounds simple and inspiring on paper, but with mental illness it can feel hard, even impossible at times. Still, with steady practice and support, it becomes achievable. I am making progress each day, and I do not let setbacks keep me from learning and practicing. If God’s Word is a lamp, then my job is to walk in the light I have, take the next right step with humility, and trust that more light will come as I move.
To learn more about my journey and the lessons I’ve gained along the way, I invite you to explore the rest of my writing and follow the ongoing work I share to support mental health, healing, and rehabilitation with hope. These lessons can be found on my Pillar Posts page.
The lamp shows the next step. The spotlight distracts you into the dark. That is where the pit waits.