What You Don’t See On My Good Days

Posted on by fearlessatheart

Life Is Hard… and I’m Still Here

I’m tired.
Tired of life feeling like so much work.
Tired of the fact that “doing anything” takes more energy than most people will ever know.
Tired of living with chronic pain.

But at least I’m alive.
And I know that’s probably the last thing anyone expects me to say.

Most days, I put on a brave face. I move through life with a smile, a joke, a “I’m fine!” — but the truth is, I haven’t had a single pain-free day in the last nine years. Not one.

I’m not sharing this for pity. I don’t want that.
I’m sharing it because I promised myself I’d be authentic this year.

Nothing I’ve accomplished has been handed to me. I’ve worked for all of it — as a mom, a wife, a student, a professional, a daughter, a sister, and a friend. People often say they don’t know how I manage it all. Honestly? Some days I don’t know either. I just… do it. Because I don’t have another choice.

But I want people to understand something: life is not easy for most of us, especially those of us walking through it with chronic illness.

And don’t misunderstand me — I love my life. I am grateful for it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish more days were less pain-filled, less exhausting, less “push through and hope I don’t break.”

I have more good days than bad ones now, but the bad days feel heavier — maybe because everyone expects me to be “normal” again. Maybe because I expect it of myself.

The last decade looks nothing like the future I imagined when I graduated college. But life has taught me more than I ever asked for, and God has used my story in ways I can see… and in ways I haven’t even discovered yet.

Life is rough.
God is good.
Both can be true.

From Fearful Thoughts to Fierce Truths

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I have this very bad habit of lying to myself.

I get caught up in my head, letting negative thoughts about my abilities, my worth, and even my appearance weave their way into my life.
“You’re not good enough or pretty enough.”
“You can’t do that.”
“They only hung out with you because you kept bothering them.”
“See? You don’t know as much as you thought.”
“They probably don’t even want to be around you.”
“Don’t even try—you’ll fail.”

These lies feed my insecurities and sideswipe my desire to be brave. They make me second-guess myself and drag me into a downward spiral I know too well. Being an overthinker doesn’t help; I read too deeply into my actions and the actions of others. Those toxic thoughts hold me back from boldness, fill me with fear, and convince me that failure is inevitable.

These past few weeks have been a constant battle as the lies whisper that I don’t belong, that I’m not capable, that I am not enough. I hate failing—or even risking failure—so hiding behind these thoughts has felt safer than stepping out and trying to build new friendships, navigate adulthood, or learn the ropes at my job.

In the quiet moments, instead of finding rest, I let the lies settle in. The quiet became lonely. Heavy.
And honestly? I failed.
I failed at living audaciously because I let fear convince me to stay nestled in my comfort zone.
I failed—the very thing I was trying to avoid.

Recently, I was challenged to play a simple game. I immediately refused.
Why? Because I knew I’d lose. 

But in my hesitation, someone asked me to step out of my comfort zone. I blurted out, “I do that all the time!” Yet as the words left my mouth, I realized how untrue they really were. I haven’t been stepping out nearly as much as I thought. I’ve been clinging to what’s safe. To the familiar. To the old routines and old relationships, instead of bravely building new ones.

News flash: I will most likely fail at something—or maybe at many things.
But staying still, staying small, staying safe, won’t protect me. It will just keep me from growth.

The thoughts that hold me captive—the ones that say I’m not enough—are lies that need to be rebuked and replaced.
Instead, I should be speaking life over myself:

“You can do this.”
“You are enough.”
“You are beautiful.”
“You may fail, but you’ll learn.”
“You are loved.”

These are the words I need to weave into my soul until they settle into my heart as truth.

The funny thing is, it’s always been easier to speak truth and encouragement over other women than it is to speak it over myself. But that changes now. My challenge during this season of transition is to remind myself—daily—that I am brave, confident, and capable. Fear does not get to tell my story.

And you, reader, are brave.
You are confident.
You are enough.
You were created with purpose.
Yes, you might fail. But don’t let the fear of failure keep you from stepping out into the world.
You are deeply, undeniably loved.

The Story I Never Wanted—and the Life I Now Love

Posted on by fearlessatheart

December 17th.

It was the worst day of my life—the day I almost died. In all tangible facts, I shouldn’t have survived. I was broken, and life as I knew it would never be the same.

This anniversary is a big one—nine years. One of the ones that stands out. Because just when I think I’ve “overcome” the incident, something brings it back: a comment, a memory, or a TBI headache. It never feels far from reality.

But over these nine years, I’ve learned something that I want you to really hear:
The trauma you go through—whatever it is—is a part of your story, not your whole story.

When you’re in the thick of it, it feels like life will only ever be a shadow of what it once was. I’ve never been happier to be wrong. Nine years ago, I thought my life was over. I wondered who I would be if I wasn’t a nurse, if I wasn’t a “whole” person anymore. I thanked God for saving me, but if I’m honest, I also wondered why He did if I could no longer do everything I had planned.

Those early years were full of wrestling. But life slowly settled. I worked my butt off to get back to nursing—to get my life back. It took sleepless nights, encouragement, and a whole lot of stubbornness to reach anything that resembled “normal.”

And actually, I’ve come to dislike that word—normal. What even is that? My life now is far from what most would consider normal for a 31-year-old. I live with constant pain. There are days I can’t get out of bed because of a migraine or some other lingering affliction.

Do I hate that part? Absolutely.
Do I love what life has still given me—my empathy, my husband, my son? Without question.
And honestly, I’ve reached a place where I don’t wish the accident never happened.

These past nine years have taken me places I never would have gone—into deep valleys and onto unexpected mountaintops.

A few things I’ve learned along the way:

God can use even the hardest moments if we let Him.

I’m still blown away that He can take the worst moment of my life and somehow bring Himself glory. He shows up in ways I don’t understand, weaving my story into moments I never see coming. It may be my story, but ultimately, it’s His.

Here is worth living—the hard and the holy.

 Being present, right now, is the beauty of the present. Life is what you make it. And there is nothing like being recognized years later in your hometown for something good you did, or having people say they watched you walk through the shadows and come out the other side. People can be the greatest blessing.

God shows up-in the little and big things.

The simple fact that he allowed my life to be spared is a big thing. Now I don’t know what you all believe about God, so hear me with a grain of salt. Throughout my life but especially in the last 9 years. It never ceases to amaze me that God cares about the little things and provides glimmers of light on the hardest days. Glimmers of light such as a cool breeze on a hot day, a coffee from a friend, and a smile from a stranger. Life can get pretty hard sometimes, but God allows these glimmers to remind us of hope. 

December 17th will always mark the day everything changed.
But it’s also the day I began the slow climb toward a life that is hard—and somehow, one I love even more than the one I lost.

Holding space for heavy moments

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Sometimes something happens to us and we don’t think we are enough. We don’t think that we are worthy of the good things in our life. When those dark clouds come, it is vitally important that you have people in your life that remind you that you are worth it-you are worth the extra baggage that you have because of some traumatic experience that you did not choose. You didn’t choose this life of chronic pain, of questioning everything, and of wondering if you aren’t good enough.

Let me tell you this. I’ve been there. I know the depths.The moments that you don’t want to be here-or you think that you’d be okay if you weren’t. Those dark clouds can be pretty heavy at times-I know that, you know that. Or maybe you don’t know that-I am really glad you don’t-but try to understand why someone would feel that way.Please try.

Yesterday was World Kindness Day. 

Kindness is free. Kindness costs you nothing, but it could mean the world to someone.

Be kind.

That’s the bottom line. You have no idea what people are going through , but your smile, and your kind words could be the life line someone needs.

Depression doesn’t play favorites. It can affect those of us who have traumatic experiences or those of us who have picturesque childhoods. It doesn’t play favorites and we shouldn’t expect it to. We should be checking in on all our friends-even the “happy” ones. 

I can tell you for a fact that I was severely depressed about my situation 8 years ago, but I’m pretty positive that others couldn’t tell because I knew all the right things to say. I knew how to pretend to be ok, when inside my world was falling apart. I was nowhere near where I wanted to be-but I had come so far since the accident. I lost hope.

Things must be really dire when one loses hope. But I am very lucky that I have people in my corner that notice things like that. One such person in my life called me out-he noticed that I wasn’t putting in the effort that I did before. He called me out on the fact that I seemed to have lost my will to fight. 

That got me thinking-who am I to let the dark cloud win-even subtly. What if I couldn’t do everything that my heart had planned-plans change. That challenge saved my future because I didn’t want to let the trauma win. I don’t know where the future leads but I do know that I’m just here along for the ride.

Now I do not know what your story is, but I do know that you are not reading my thoughts by accident. I’ve been to the depths, so if you need to talk about it, I’m here. I will never think less of anyone for the dark clouds, but I’ll continue to look for the glimmers-in your life and mine. I’ve been there. I survived. And you don’t have to walk it alone.

The Unseen Gifts of Rest: Lessons Learned from a Broken Foot

Posted on by fearlessatheart

It has been over two months since I broke my foot. This season has been so hard but also refreshing at times. Honestly, before the incident, I was going through the motions of life-feeling overdrawn from life. Don’t hear what I’m not saying. I love everything that I’m doing and it will pay off in the end but my soul was kind of exhausted.

Now, I’m not recommending that you break your foot to avoid burnout, but God met me here and refreshed my soul. This season reminded me that I am important. As a person in a caregiving profession, I can make that a part of my identity. Caregiving is a natural part of who I am as an eldest daughter. This season has been challenging to say the least because I’m not used to being the one dependent on others. Not that it’s all been bad, but I don’t like being dependent. I’ve gotten to spend more time with my husband and son. I’ve been able to give myself the rest I need to be able to be my best.

I think that’s one of the things that I’ve learned from this season. In order to do my best-do my best-I need to love myself. I need to care for myself the same way that I would care for my patients. This has been hard. I’ve found myself going into a dark place more and more often because it does not seem like life will ever go back to normal. Then, I remind myself about the good things about this season. I have been able to pour a lot into my internship and my education.

Honestly, it’s really hard to look at the positives of this season as I woke up and my leg was hurting a lot more than it did yesterday. Life appears to be moving on without me. I find myself being jealous of people that appear to have more than I do in this season. But that’s wrong of me.

I was  reminded in my devotions of the need to trust God. Being discontent undermines my trust in the Lord. I say I trust him, but I think he could have done his job better. I was challenges this morning about changing my attitude on focusing on what I can do rather than on focusing on what I can’t. I get to stay home with Atlas playing dinosaurs. I get to take rest breaks without judgement because I need to heal. I get to slow down and see-like really see-people in my life and spend quality time with them.

Overall, this season has taught me the skill of slowing down (I thought I had learned this) and the value of slow living. It also taught me (more so) the value of being selective with my energy. This allows me to be wholly present and give people my full attention and energy. It allows me to love better and care more.

When God is not afraid of emotions but people are

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When things aren’t going well, people like to pretend they are. Honestly, most people ask you how you are doing, but do not want to hear the honest answer, “Life stinks. Honestly, I’m depressed.” It shatters the illusion that everything is good. Or at least it seems that way, when they are taken aback by your honesty. 

Social media plays into this mentality by showing us the perfect aspects of life-the perfect moments frozen in time before life happens again.

There are good things in the chaos, but it’s okay to admit that this situation stinks and God is good. Both things can be true and both feelings can be valid.

A wise woman told me that it is okay to feel, but then we need to pull up our big girl panties and move forward. I keep learning this lesson.

I’ve been around this block before. And while I’m grateful for a lot of things, this season of a broken foot is really hard. I just want to be authentic-2 months of this is really hard. I hate being the center of attention but I’m pretty hard to miss with my boot AND my scooter. I hate relying on other people for basic needs. I can list several things about this season that stink and that’s okay. I’m not afraid of the dark clouds and the hardness of life. Life is hard. A broken foot is hard. It’s hard seeing others do the things that you can’t do. It’s okay to admit that. 

I think sometimes people want to fix what is broken or what they assume is broken, but really what people need is to be heard. The best friends are the ones that let you acknowledge the darkness, feel it, and then help you move on.

Life is hard. God is good. 

God isn’t afraid of emotion. He is not afraid of depression. The Psalms are filled with laments and praises. When Elijah was depressed, God didn’t yell at him, but rather sent comfort in the form of shelter, rest and nutrition.

He meets us where we are, but He doesn’t want us to stay there.

I’ll admit that this week has been hard. It’s been two months since I broke my foot and a month since surgery. I’m almost there, wherever there is, but it feels like it has been forever. I miss the sand between my toes, and the sun on my feet.

I also do not want to get my hopes up too much. Every appointment could be the one where my weight limit is changed, but on the other hand, it could be extended. I’m living in this limbo and that is super frustrating for a planner like me.

Every day is a good exercise of giving God control moment by moment. I guess that is the beauty of this season. Very few aspects of life right now require dependence on God. The bills are paid. The electricity is on. The water runs. We have food. We have shelter. Atlas and Sean are healthy. I am healthy besides my broken foot. I am really comfortable being self-sufficient, but God likes it when we are a little dependent on him. It’s not because He thinks we aren’t capable, but rather because He loves us. In a small way, I do things for Atlas. It doesn’t mean that I think he is incompetent, but rather because I love him and want the best for him.

In the same way, God wants the best for us and also, unlike me with Atlas, can do much more with us than we are able to do for ourselves.

In conclusion, I want you to know that it is okay for depression and gratitude to walk hand in hand. Honestly, gratitude helps the dark cloud to not get so big, but it is okay if life sucks but God is good. Also, I would encourage you to be honest with people when they ask you how you are doing. It’s actually refreshing not to have to spend that energy pretending everything is okay when it is not. At the same time, there is a time and a place for the full story. Maybe they don’t need the whole story of your depression, but it is okay to admit that you are not okay.

Hair washing and Other Simple Things

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It’s almost been a month since my surgery and almost two since I broke my foot. 

This season is hard-is hard-but God has taught me so much during this bump in the road. Here’s a few things that I’ve learned and am still learning.

  • There is healing in simple things like washed hair and clean clothes. The simple things matter. They make a person feel better and more human. They also make a person feel seen and heard.
  • There is humility in being able to accept help. I chose nursing because I wanted to help others. I’m used to being on the side that helps, not the side that needs help. After my accident, I fought really hard to be the best that I could be. Now, I feel like I’m back where I came from. I know it’s not the same-I was a lot more broken. I had a phenomenal support system then and I do now. I know that no one thinks anything about the help they offer and I’m learning to accept it joyfully because I would do the same. It’s a two sided coin.
  • It’s okay-often vital- to slow down. Slowing down doesn’t mean you stop doing what you love doing. It just means that you are more picky with your day to day time. God knows better than we do.

These are simply a few things that I’ve learned in the past couple of months. 

Boots and Crutches

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This has been the most trying season-and it’s only been a week.

One week. I don’t know how I’m going to make it 6 weeks. 

This season is hard-so hard-for many reasons.

  •  I have to depend on others for even the most basic things. It’s humbling. It brings life into perspective. I’ve been here before-after my accident-but it’s different this time. I’m used to being the one taking care of everyone and everything, not being the person that’s being helped. I have a husband and son depending on me which makes this season that much harder.
  • I miss work. I’m getting stir crazy doing less because I physically cannot do more. I love my job in that every day I get the privilege to be a part of people’s stories-the hard and the holy. I dearly miss my coworkers. 
  • There’s few things that I can do around the house which means everything including Atlas is falling on my husband. He has tackled this season with grace and patience. He has embraced taking care of me. I chose a good one 🙂

There have also been sweet moments. 

  • Forced rest. I have been going a mile a minute since before Atlas was born. It seems like a higher power decided that I needed to take a break and not do everything at once.
  • I actually can spend a little bit more time working on school and my internship. I’m learning a lot towards my degree and life. Learning never stops even when you break your foot.
  • God loves you through simple things like His church bringing by meals. I know there is a lot of pressure to go on the mission field, and I support missions, but there is subtle grace in supplying people with dinner. This season has been rough but the church has surrounded us. Maybe missional living is just doing the next right thing with eyes open to see the needs of your neighbor. 
  • Atlas has been surprisingly gentle. He doesn’t understand why mama can’t pick him up or chase him, but he love the knee scooter and he has gently patted “mama’s boot”.

Flamingos and other thoughts

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It’s been 3 days since my non-weight bearing status was implemented, and I hate it. 

I feel stuck. I know I need to rest and heal but I don’t like being still. But, I’m constantly reminded that doing hard things is how we grow. I guess I could choose to wallow in my pity party or I can use this time to better myself. 

Maybe I can use this time to read books that I never had time to? I have been blessed with a clinical opportunity that doesn’t need me to be on my feet so I can focus on that. God works in mysterious ways. 

I was reminded of a verse recently.

“I will lift up my eyes to the mountains; From where shall my help come? My help comes from Yahweh, who made heaven and earth.” Psalms 121: 1-2

This reminds me that God is in control. He isn’t surprised by anything rather He can use everything for His glory. I have to keep giving the future and possible surgery repeatedly up to God. I am not being stupid, rather I am following the Doctors orders to a T, but I still have this thought in the back of my head-what could surgery mean for my life?

These anxious thoughts keep me from doing things fearful that I’ll make my leg worse. If I let these thoughts reign in my brain then I will dig myself into a hole and never come out. I constantly have to remind myself that if surgery happens, life will still be okay. I have a tremendous support system and family that have been with me through worse. And we came out of that stronger for it. Actually, I was able to get up the stairs by using the techniques that I learned after my car accident and we found a tub bench etc in my parents basement that are useful to me now. Life comes full circle but I’m older and wiser now. I’m a rehab nurse, but it’s a lot easier to be the nurse as opposed to the patient. Anyways, here I am making the best of a hard situation and trying to learn what God wants me to now. By the way, I can’t help but think about flamingo when I stand. Maybe I’ll bring the flamingo look to the cool side. Oh who am I kidding, I don’t want to be one of the cool kids.

Forced Rest due to a broken foot

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I broke my foot and not in any really cool way. It was a perfect storm and I placed my foot in the wrong place at the wrong time. I felt so embarrassed, but oh well. 

I earned myself a boot and non-weight bearing status for at least 6 weeks. Not how I envisioned ending the summer but we pivot our plans. Life is messy.

Yesterday, I was digging myself a hole of woe is me when a friend reminded me to look at the good things. Maybe someone up in heaven really thought that I could benefit from slowing down. I think He could have been a little less dramatic, but in all honesty, I don’t 100 percent know that I would have listened. I’m stubborn that way, but my stubbornness has gotten me this far. 

It has only been less than 48 hours since I was told that I couldn’t use my right leg for the time being if I wanted to avoid surgery. I’ve already learned a few things.

  1. Using crutches is a lot harder than it looks and actually takes some fínese. It uses muscles that I didn’t know existed. It takes coordination and balance. 
  2. The flamingo look is in. 
  3. God meets you where you are at and if you have eyes to see then you will see the way He loves you sweetly. This is not where I desire to be. My leg hurts, my soul feels trapped, and I don’t like staying still. But there is beauty in slowing down-chocolate from a best friend, flowers from a sweet aunt, parents that babysit the wild child, and a husband that worries/loves you. 
  4. God desires our attention. He desires and deserves our attention. When life gets busy, it’s easy to put my attention on different things. Now, I’m literally stuck in bed and there is nowhere to look but up.
  5. Sometimes, it is okay-necessary-to accept help. Most times, people offer to help because they care and you are not a burden for accepting it. One cannot survive life on their own, but together-hand in hand-we can thrive. I am usually the one offering the help, and it’s really humbling to literally need help to get up the stairs, but that’s the best form of life-a give and take. No one is better.

Yes, life doesn’t look anything like I pictured it a week ago, but life can be beautiful in the hard and the holy. Here’s me living my best flamingo life spotting the coolest fashion in the form of a CAM boot and knee scooter.