2022 wasn’t the easiest chapter of my story, but it was the chapter of grace, growth, and resilience. I never asked for the fear, the anxiety, the anger, or the isolation. But when my life as I knew it flipped upside down, I was gently brought back to my safe place, my happy place, the home where I’d learn how to breathe again.
When I first arrived back home, I was running on fumes—emotionally, financially, and spiritually. I was reeling from a situation that left deep, painful, invisible bruises. My one-year-old needed more of me than I thought I had left to give. He showed me, I had more grit, strength, and resilience inside my heart than I thought. In the stillness of the late nights, Odin peacefully asleep in my chest, I start to realize something. This wasn’t the end. It was the beginning of something I never expected to find: strength.
And that strength? It didn’t come from grand epiphanies or perfect healing. It came from tiny, everyday moments.
My son couldn’t understand the weight I carried or the nights I cried after he went to sleep. But he did understand joy. He understood wonder. He understood getting back up after falling—again and again and again. Watching him learn to walk while I was learning to emotionally stand on my own felt poetic in a way only real life can be. He fell constantly. But he never hesitated to try again. And somewhere in those wobbly steps, I realized: resilience isn’t about being fearless. It’s about not giving up, even when you’re scared.
And then, surrounded by salty air, evergreens, and skies that stretch forever, healing began—slowly. I’d take walks with Odin along the beach, feeling the waves settle something inside me. In those quiet, sacred moments, I began to understand that peace doesn’t come from answers—it comes from presence.
And God was present in it all. In the quiet of the forest. In the cold brisk mountain air. In the tiny giggles of my son. Not with loud answers, but with soft mercies: a sunrise, a deep breath, the weight of a precious sleeping baby on my chest. He didn’t just pull me through—He stayed with me in it. Each day, I felt a little less lost. Each night, a little more anchored.
It was during that season of stillness, when I thought my heart was too wounded to love again, that God brought me Adam. Not in a rush, not in a whirlwind, but in the steady, grounding way that only something truly meant for you arrives.
Adam came with kindness, patience, and a son of his own. Watching our two boys play side by side, laugh like they’ve always known each other, I know in my soul: they were meant to be brothers. Just as much as Adam and I are soulmates.
Adam was exactly what my heart needed—a warm hug in human form. He didn’t ask me to be whole, healed, or ready. He met me right where I was—with grace, patience, and unwavering support. His presence wasn’t loud or demanding; it was safe, grounding, and gently consistent. In a season where I felt insecure and anxious, he offered acceptance without condition .
God didn’t just deliver me from something. He delivered me into something far greater. A life stitched back together by grace. A home built on love, resilience, and the wild, healing rhythm of nature.
If you’re in a chapter of challenge, if you’re walking a road you didn’t ask to be on—hold on. Sometimes the chapters we never wanted or expected are the ones that make us whole. And sometimes, love finds us not in the life we planned, but in the life that was waiting for us all along.
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