Before you begin reading, I want to start by saying this: in some ways, this one is hard for me to write. But it feels necessary. I actually started this blog back in 2019 and only wrote a couple of things – never really putting them out there for anyone to read.

Why?

Well… a lot of reasons. But if I’m being honest, the biggest one was that I never felt qualified. I don’t have a fancy degree. I didn’t feel like I had the “right” credentials to talk about anything spiritual or emotional.

But honestly? I’m glad I waited.

I needed to live a little more life. I needed to walk through some things I didn’t quite have language for yet. And I needed to get to a place where I wasn’t just functioning – I was actually becoming whole. For a long time, I felt like a shell of the person I knew I was supposed to be.

Which leads us to the first section…

When the Past Starts Speaking in the Present

Unresolved trauma and grief have a way of showing up – sometimes quietly, sometimes loudly – even when you think enough time has passed and you’ve “healed yourself.” (Spoiler: that’s not a thing.)

I’ve been married a little over sixteen years to my husband, Brian. We met when I was a junior in high school. We had the opportunity to learn how to “adult” together. We had two beautiful boys (who would absolutely die if they knew I called them “beautiful”) and we figured out how to raise tiny humans while we were still basically kids ourselves.

But we did it. We kept them alive. And more than that… they thrived. Church involvement, sports, full social calendars, family vacations – we did all the things.

But in the middle of building a life, I skipped a really important step in becoming a whole adult:

I tried to forget about the “stuff” that lingered in the background of my story.

And for a while, I did a pretty good job of it. I could outrun it, outwork it, out‑busy it. But the thing about the wounds we don’t name is that they eventually find a way to speak. The pain we bury doesn’t stay buried. It waits. And when the right pressure hits – marriage, parenting, stress, exhaustion – it rises to the surface and demands to be acknowledged.

When Life Forced Me to Pay Attention

Looking back, I can tell you exactly when I started to feel a shift in myself. It was somewhere around the middle of 2024. I found myself becoming someone I didn’t recognize – bitter, resentful, a little short‑fused. It felt like something inside me was simmering, and I didn’t know how to turn the heat down.

The best way I can describe it is this: I was like a volcano.

I never had healthy conflict resolution modeled for me. And because I’m a natural people pleaser, I would bend and accommodate and smooth things over until I couldn’t anymore… and then I’d feel taken advantage of. But instead of talking things out like a healthy adult, I stuffed my emotions deep down and avoided them.

And here’s the thing: you can only stuff for so long.

Eventually, everything you’ve buried – no matter how deep you think you’ve pushed it – comes out with force. And when it does, it doesn’t ask for permission. It erupts.

That eruption was my wake‑up call. But the truth is, the pressure building inside me didn’t start in adulthood. It had roots – deep ones.

Where the Wound First Formed

A lot of the things I was wrestling with didn’t just appear out of nowhere. They had a beginning, long before I ever understood what grief or trauma even were.

When I was thirteen, my entire world changed in a way no child should ever have to experience. My mom died in our home after being shot by my father. It was traumatic and confusing and far more than my young heart could process. And because of the circumstances, nothing about the aftermath was simple.

For the next four years, I lived with my dad. He was never physically unkind to me, but the emotional landscape was complicated. There were things he preferred I didn’t talk about, details he encouraged me to keep quiet, and parts of my life from “before” that he asked me to tuck away. I learned very quickly how to carry things alone, how to stay small, how to keep the peace, and how to protect other people’s comfort at the expense of my own.

I want to be clear: I’m not sharing this to dishonor anyone. Families are complicated. I’m sharing it because this is where the wound began – the place where fear, silence, and survival took root in me long before I ever had the words for it.

And those roots followed me into adulthood, even when I thought I had buried them deep enough to forget.

When April 2025 Rolled Around…

By the time April 2025 came, I hit a point where enough was enough. Parts of me I had kept hidden from everyone – even my husband – started rising to the surface. There was nothing left to hide behind, and I felt completely exposed. All of my insecurities were screaming at full volume.

The only thing that could quiet the noise was finally getting the help I had needed for years. I had to start putting words to the storm that had been raging inside my head and actually begin to heal.

Therapy became the place where I finally slowed down long enough to look at what was really going on. And it was there that I discovered something I had never named before: I had a deeply rooted fear of abandonment. I lived from this terrified place of being unloved and unwanted.

My solution? Be easy. Be low‑maintenance. Don’t rock the boat. I thought if I stayed quiet, kept a smile on my face, and just went with the flow, then I’d be worthy of love and that would keep me safe in my relationships.

But that way of living wasn’t “safety”. It was survival. 

The Spiritual Layer: Jesus Meets Me in the Naming

This part is harder to put into words – not because I can’t think of the places Jesus intervened, but because there are so many. When I look back, I’m honestly overwhelmed by how present He was in moments I didn’t even realize He was holding me together…

But if I had to start somewhere, I’d start here:

Jesus met me in the loneliest season of my life.

I had hit my rock bottom. I was barely hanging on by a thread. And it was in that place – the place I never wanted to be – that I had to decide what I actually wanted for my life. Was I going to slap another bandaid on the wound like I had done a thousand times before? Or was I finally going to take the uncomfortable, terrifying step toward actually getting healthy?

I chose to do the work.

Not because it was easy. Not because I suddenly felt brave. But because something in me knew I couldn’t keep living the way I was living. My husband deserved a healthy version of me. My kids deserved it. My friends deserved it. And honestly… I owed it to myself.

And that’s where Jesus met me – not in the polished, put‑together moments, but in the messy, exhausted, “I can’t do this anymore” moments. He didn’t wait for me to be strong. He stepped into the exact place where I was falling apart. 

Journaling was something I did all the time when I was a teenager. It was how I processed everything. But as I got older and life got busier, that habit slowly faded away. The funny thing is  –  I’ve always known that writing is how I make sense of what’s going on inside me.

So in addition to therapy, that was one of the first things I picked back up.

I had so many emotions, so many thoughts, so many fears… and I didn’t really feel like I had anyone to share them with (besides Brian, because he’s amazing – but I also knew there were some things I needed to work through on my own). So I started writing again. I journaled my thoughts, my worries, my questions. I started reading my Bible consistently again and writing down Scripture every day. And then I started journaling my prayers.

It was in that season that I learned one of the most important lessons:

Hitting rock bottom and falling on your face before the Lord is sometimes the only way to fully comprehend the peace that comes when you lay every burden – even the ugly, hidden ones – at the feet of Jesus.

The good news about hitting rock bottom is that there’s really only one direction left to look: up. I knew I had to rebuild. And the best part was… I wasn’t rebuilding alone.

Transformation: What Has Healing Looked Like

Rebuilding isn’t an easy process. It required me to actually sit still and stay silent. And if you know me, you know that my brain is always running – a million thoughts, hundreds of things on my to-do list… so silence? Let’s be real. It’s uncomfortable. It feels unproductive. Sometimes it even feels lazy. 

I’ve often wondered why this is. But I think it’s because silence can become deafening after a while. Sitting with your own thoughts is tough. Realizing that you are a mess and don’t have it all together like you would like to pretend is humbling. The reality of having lied to yourself for so long about being okay when you are actually NOT okay is sobering. But it’s in that place – the quiet, uncomfortable, and honest place –  that God speaks. It’s in that place that you are able to see things through a clearer lens. 

There’s one day I remember so clearly that I went up to my room and fell down on my knees. In that moment I felt all the feelings. Overwhelmed by chaos, anxiety, sadness. (Thankfully the boys weren’t home during this time because they would’ve thought I had absolutely lost my mind!)

It was at that moment I heard God gently whisper “Confide in me”.

And from that moment on, I did. 

And it changed EVERYTHING. 

It was during this season I learned another very important lesson: 

Seasons that feel lonely can actually be a blessing. It’s an invitation to rely on God instead of leaning on other people. It opens a door for him to realign your life with his will. 

God has done some incredible things throughout my whole life. I look back and see his fingerprints everywhere… but the past year has been the toughest, and oddly most rewarding year I’ve ever walked through.

We may walk through some really hard things, but he uses every one of them.

Maybe you’re reading this today and you are walking through a hard season. Maybe you feel alone, hopeless, and unsure of what’s next.

Let me be your big sister for a minute and share some things that have radically changed my life. 

The first two are obvious – but really most important.

1. PRAY. PRAY. AND PRAY MORE SOME MORE.

And expect God to answer. 

Not the short, surface-level prayers. But real, honest, messy ones. I tell people all the time: God doesn’t need our “pretty” prayers that are cleaned-up, polished and perfectly worded. He wants you. Exactly as you are.

You don’t have to clean yourself up before you come to him. 

One book that radically changed my life in this area is called Dark Clouds, Deep Mercies by Mark Vroegop – all about lamenting. If you don’t know where to start, start there! 

2. Read your Bible.

Start with one chapter a day of whatever book you choose. I recommend starting with John, but honestly, there’s no wrong place to start as long as you are reading consistently. 

There will be some days you won’t want to. 

There will be days that you’ll finish a chapter and think “Wait… what did I just read?!” 

Don’t get discouraged.

 Just keep going. 

It will get easier and eventually the dots will start connecting. 

3. Journal!

Not everyone loves this one and that’s okay. But for me, this has become one of my favorite parts of the day. 

I journal everything:

Where I am in life. 

What’s stressing me out. 

What’s going well.

What I’m learning.

What I’m praying for.

But I also journal about whatever chapter I’m reading and write down my prayers. Why? Because since I started journaling way back in April, when things seemed pretty hopeless, I now have a written record of how God has moved in my life. When I get discouraged, I can flip back and see his faithfulness. It’s also a great way to keep track of what you’re learning. 

When I first started I used the SOAP Method: 

S – Scripture: Whatever scripture stood out to me that day.

O- Observation: What’s happening in the passage? What details matter? What’s the context? 

A – Application: How does this apply to my life? What is God teaching me?

P – Prayer: Pour it all out! Hold nothing back!

Now, as your honorary big sister, I also want to encourage you to find a Christian community. We weren’t made to do life alone. You need people in your life to encourage you in your healing journey – people you trust enough to talk to about what’s really going on beneath the surface. 

Because healing, no matter how much you want it, it doesn’t happen in the dark. You need people that will step into those dark places with you… not to keep you there… but to pull you out into the light. 

I had a friend once tell me, “I’ll stand in your puddle with you.”

She meant she would stand in the middle of my mess – not judging it, not trying to rush me out of it, not pretending it wasn’t there – but simply being present until I could breathe again.

That meant more to me than she will ever know.

Because that’s what real community does.

They stand in the puddle with you… and then they help you walk toward the light.

Because healing happens in the light. 

If you’ve made it this far, I want you to hear me: there is hope for you. You are not too far gone. You are not too broken. You are not too much or too little. You are not forgotten. 

I know what it feels like to hit rock bottom and wonder if anything good can come from the mess you’re standing in. I know what it feels like to be overwhelmed by your own thoughts, unsure of where to turn, and terrified to admit you’re not okay. 

But I also know this:

God meets us in the places we least expect him. 

He steps into the dark, quiet corners of our lives and brings light in ways we could never imagine. 

And he often does it through people. 

Like the friend who told me, “I’ll stand in your puddle with you.”

She didn’t try to fix me. She didn’t rush me. She didn’t judge my mess (and oh boy…. was I a disaster?!) She just stood with me until I could stand again. 

There is a God who sees you. 

A Savior who loves you. 

A community waiting to hold space for you. 

And there is healing… REAL healing. Even if you can’t see it yet. 

My prayer is that something in my story gives you the courage to take one small step toward the light. One honest prayer. One chapter of scripture. One journal entry. One conversation. One moment of letting God into the places you’ve kept locked up for far too long. 

Healing is possible. Hope is real. And you are worth the work it takes to become whole. 

I’ll be your biggest fan.

And if no one has told you this in a while: 

You’re going to make it.