My Life. My Struggle. My Healing.

Days like this weekend and the last few days remind me how much healing I still have ahead of me.

There are moments of struggles when my body reacts before my mind can even catch up—trembling when I have to interact with people who have caused me deep hurt and trauma. And then there are the quieter struggles, the ones no one sees. A simple message or change in communication can send my thoughts spiraling. I start questioning everything: Did I do something wrong? Am I not enough?

Even in writing this, I find myself doubting myself. Is this too much? Is this helpful? Am I doing enough, or am I falling short again?

That feeling has followed me in many areas of my life. I carry a heavy pressure every day—not just to survive, but to not fail. I don’t want to fail my children. I don’t want to fail my family, my friends, my boss, my future, or even myself. And that pressure can feel exhausting. Because it doesn’t leave space to just be human.

I’ve also find myself struggling with questions that don’t have easy answers. How is it part of God’s plan for someone to be actively healing from trauma while still experiencing it? How do I make sense of trying to recover from abuse while still being forced to interact with the people who caused it?

Those are the questions I wrestle with.

I struggle with the fact that all I’ve ever really wanted was to be a wife, a mother, and to be deeply loved, cherished, respected, valued, and appreciated. I got to be a wife. I got to become a mother. But somewhere along the way, those beautiful roles became tools that were used to hurt me instead. And sometimes I struggle with understanding why that was part of my story. I’m over 30, and I don’t have everything I thought I would by now. No long-standing career. No college degree. No stable sense of “I’ve arrived.” But what I do have is a life that has been shaped by motherhood, survival, and starting over more times than I ever expected.

I also struggle with something that is harder to say out loud: not always being believed. Sharing my experiences and being met with doubt or dismissal adds another layer of pain on top of everything else.

But even with all of this, I’m still here.

And so, I pray.

I pray that I feel God’s presence again in the moments when He feels far away. I pray that I can see His hand at work, even when I don’t understand the circumstances around me.

I pray that He continues protecting me and my children. I pray that He removes those who seek to cause harm and replaces fear with peace. I pray that His angels go before us, surrounding us with protection, strength, and grace.

I pray that my faith grows stronger than my fear.And I pray that my trust in Him returns to the place it once was.

Most of all, I pray because I’ve learned that sometimes faith isn’t having all the answers. Sometimes faith is simply continuing to pray when you don’t.

So if you’re in a season where you’re struggling too—if you’re questioning, hurting, healing, grieving, or simply exhausted—I hope you’ll pray as well. Not because prayer makes the pain disappear immediately. But because sometimes prayer is what carries us through the pain until healing finally catches up.

If anything I’ve written helps you feel less alone, then I’m grateful. Because maybe healing doesn’t always start with having answers. Maybe it starts with honesty. Maybe it starts with realizing that someone else understands the weight you’re carrying too. Maybe it starts with prayer.

Let’s keep moving forward.

Love always,

Kelsey