Tag: life

Still Standing-Just Slower

Posted on by fearlessatheart

Today, I’m choosing transparency.

I hate slowing down. I’m not good at being still—and if I’m being honest, that probably played a role in what just happened.

I re-broke my foot.

Yep… back to the CAM boot, the flamingo stance, and the knee scooter.

I had just gotten back to “normal,” and then this. When the doctor told me, I cried right there in the office. For someone who prides herself on being put together, that wasn’t exactly my finest moment.

This wasn’t part of my plan the first time—let alone the second. But here we are.

And here’s what I’m (re)learning:

Rest is necessary.
Not optional. Not something I earn after everything is done. Necessary.
I tend to stay in motion—doing, pushing, going—and ignore the signals to slow down. That mindset has gotten me into trouble before… just never quite like this. Maybe this time, the lesson will stick.

Accepting help is not weakness.
I am fiercely independent. It’s served me well—but it also makes it hard to receive.
People show love through action—meals, groceries, showing up. Those things matter. And maybe accepting help isn’t about losing independence, but about letting people be part of the healing.

My thoughts aren’t always telling me the truth.
When I need help, there’s a voice that says I’m less capable, less put together.
But I know—deep down—that’s not true. Still, it’s hard when your head tries to convince your heart otherwise.

There are still glimmers of light. ✨
This isn’t ideal—especially with school picking up—but it’s giving me unexpected time. More time with my family. More time to focus. More space than I would’ve ever chosen for myself.

I’d love to say I’ve mastered these lessons… but clearly, I’m still learning.

And maybe that’s the point.

The Hard and The Holy

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As I’ve been thinking about life—the hard and the holy, I’ve been doing a little reflecting. December 17, 2016 will always be a significant day. On one hand, it’s the day I survived. On the other, it’s the day my life changed forever.

Here are a few things life—and my brain injury—have taught me over the past nine years:

You only live—and die—once.
This moment, right here, right now, is the only one you’re guaranteed. Tomorrow isn’t promised. So kiss your spouse, spend time with your siblings and friends, put down your phone, and show your family you care.

You can do anything—within reason—that you put your mind to.
God was gracious in allowing me to recover the way I have—but it wasn’t without tears, frustration, and yes… some attitude. (Sorry to my family for all the tears—and thank you for loving me through the pity parties without letting me stay there.)

Nine years ago, I couldn’t imagine the life I’m living now. And I don’t say that for applause. I say it to show two things:

  1. How good God is, and
  2. What determination and hard work can do.

There was a time I almost gave up on the idea that my life could look anything like I had dreamed. My brother could list all the things I said I’d never be able to do again. At the top of that list? Working as an acute care nurse.

But I did it-and I’m a Rehab nurse at that. Life comes full circle.

And it was hard—honestly harder than nursing school. I had to relearn things I once knew, all while managing migraines, needing more rest, and dealing with hands that didn’t always do what my brain told them to do.

I didn’t know what I’d be capable of until I tried.

So—don’t give up.

There are many paths in life. Don’t compare yours to anyone else’s.
I have to relearn this lesson often. Maybe you’re 20 and living your dream. Maybe life took a turn and you’re still working toward it. Maybe you married young, or maybe you’re still waiting.

There is no “wrong path” when it comes to your story. You didn’t miss your chance. Your life isn’t ruined because it looks different than you expected.

Your story is your story.
And someone out there needs it.

Rest is necessary—and good.
I’m still not great at this. I tend to go, go, go… until I hit a wall and crash for 24 hours.

But I’m learning.

I’m learning the power of a well-placed “no.”
I’m learning that rest doesn’t always mean sleep.
Sometimes it’s a quiet night watching a movie with Sean.
Sometimes it’s a walk outside in nature.

I may not love that I need more rest now—but I’m learning to respect it.

Sometimes, you have to take life five minutes at a time.
Looking too far ahead can be overwhelming. It can freeze you in place.

I’ve learned to focus on the next five minutes… and then the next.

That’s how I get through hard days.
That’s how I keep moving forward.

Sometimes love doesn’t look the way you expected.
I’m a romantic—but not the “love at first sight” kind.

In my story, love looked like friendship first.

There was a time I couldn’t imagine letting someone into my world—because I didn’t even understand my own brain yet. I was still figuring out who I was… and if I even liked that person.

But there was someone who stayed.
Someone who chose friendship.
Someone who was willing to learn me—my brain, my struggles, my healing.

I still don’t fully understand how he does it—but he does.

And somehow, through friendship, I let him in.

These are just a few of the many things the past nine years have taught me.

“Nine Years Later: Living, Learning, and Parenting With a Brain Injury.”

Posted on by fearlessatheart

March is Brain Injury Awareness Month 🧠

I really didn’t think I would still be struggling with things nine years later. But here we are — nine years later — and migraines still knock me for a loop.

I’m just going to be honest here… my brain injury has complicated this season of life as a student and a parent. It has made my “normal” TBI symptoms — migraines, forgetfulness, and brain fog — worse at times. Migraines like that are fewer and farther between now, but when they hit, they knock me down because I’m not expecting them anymore.

It’s in moments like this that I wish so badly to just be normal. But then I remember something important: this injury didn’t take away who I am — in many ways, it added to it. I’m the person I am today because of it.

So during Brain Injury Awareness Month, here are a few things to keep in mind when interacting with people who may have experienced known or unknown head trauma.

Every injury is different.
You may know someone who had a brain injury, but that doesn’t mean you know this person’s story. I understand the desire to relate, but sometimes the best thing you can do is simply listen. Their story might surprise you.

Thinking differently doesn’t mean we are less intelligent.
Can I be vulnerable for a moment? This is one of my biggest fears. On bad brain days, when words get stuck and my thoughts feel tangled, I worry people will think I’m incompetent. I know I shouldn’t care so much about what people think — but I’ve worked incredibly hard to get where I am. Words might get caught sometimes, but that doesn’t mean the thoughts aren’t there. If anything, I know I’m just as smart — if not smarter — than I was before my accident. And honestly, I’m doing things now that I once thought would be impossible.

“Invisible” disabilities are still disabilities.
Just because you can’t see everything someone is dealing with doesn’t mean it isn’t real. Many people with brain injuries are fighting battles you’ll never notice from the outside.

These are just a few ways we can create a little more understanding and acceptance for people living with brain injuries.

Thanks for reading my thoughts. 💛

Sitting with the Hard

Posted on by fearlessatheart

They don’t tell you that even when you live together, being on opposite schedules—going to school, raising little ones, managing life—means you may not actually see much of your favorite person.

Adulting is a lot of work. Parenting is a lot of work. And sometimes you have to do the work even when you don’t feel like it.

Sean thinks so differently than I do. In many ways that’s a good thing because I’m grateful he hasn’t experienced the same trauma I have. But sometimes those differences can also be frustrating.

PTSD stinks. Truly.

You do the work. You learn how to stand on your own two feet again. You build a steady job and a healthy relationship. You think you’re finally okay… and then WHAM. PTSD hits you upside the head and knocks you down again. Suddenly everything feels hard all over.

Depression whispers lies that make you feel less than. It makes it hard to get out of bed. Hard to find motivation for even the simplest tasks.

And we’re all living in this strange post-pandemic world that changed the way we do everything.

Then there’s the guilt—feeling like you should be happy, like everything in your life looks good on paper, yet inside you’re still struggling.

It stinks.

But I haven’t been walking through it alone. I’ve been managing with the help of trusted people and a lot of faith in God. Recently, I realized I couldn’t process it all by myself anymore, so I started therapy again—with the same counselor who helped me through the darkest season before. She already knows my defense mechanisms.

Only two sessions in and it completely wrecked me.

In one session I finally put a name to something I hadn’t been able to explain: the deep sense of loss I was carrying after everything that happened. Even when life was going well, I was subconsciously preparing for it all to be ripped away again.

After that session, I had to do the hard and exhausting work of sitting with those emotions instead of running from them.

Now that I’ve sat with them, felt them fiercely, and given them space to breathe, I can begin the even harder work of changing my thoughts.

So here’s to not being okay—but being in a better place than I was yesterday.

Here’s to giving myself grace when my traumatized self hurts the people I love.

I may have broken pieces, but I’m doing the hard work of letting Jesus patch me back together in ways only He can.

Ordinary Places, Extraordinary Grace

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Ordinary.
That word makes me flinch.

For 32 years, I’ve tried not to be ordinary—because ordinary feels too close to boring, forgettable, unimportant. And don’t lie and tell me you’ve never linked those words together in your mind.

I just finished reading Shannan Martin’s The Ministry of Ordinary Places tor the second or third time.. I originally picked it up because I love her heart and writing, but I was also curious. In my mind, ministry and ordinary don’t naturally go together.

Then I started reading.

From the introduction, she had me hooked:

“I always thought being called by God was a rare and special thing that happened to only a slim percentage of unlucky people… Whenever (‘the call’) popped up, I kindly reminded God that I’m not that kind of woman. I’m indoorsy, with a sensitive gag reflex and a mortal phobia of outhouses.”

I laughed—and sympathized—but I realized I’m the opposite. I feel the call to go. To leave. To serve overseas. But circumstances have kept me here. And honestly, I’m more comfortable on the mission field than I am in suburban America.

This tension—going versus staying—has followed me for years. Lately, I’ve felt peace about being right here, right now, in Mansfield. But Shannan Martin’s words drove the question deeper into my heart:

“God got busy shrinking the world as I knew it down to a pinhole… Rather than feeling stuck in a problem-sodden world I would never be able to fix, God was caring for my soul by pointing me toward my corner of it and asking me to believe it was enough.”

That challenged me.
Was it enough? Could it be enough?
If I stayed in America—in Mansfield, Ohio—for the rest of my life, would that be enough?

I was thinking about the weekend I was at a junior high retreat. I led a small group of sixth-grade girls. It was exhausting and life-giving all at once—middle schoolers have endless energy, and I drank an alarming amount of coffee.

But that question kept echoing in my mind:
If you stayed here forever, would it be enough?

Would listening, loving, and pointing these girls toward Jesus be enough?
It’s not as extraordinary as helping starving orphans in Mexico or serving in Africa. It doesn’t feel heroic.

Would sacrificing sleep to love a girl who doesn’t know what safe love looks like be enough?
Would a hug, a smile, a compliment be enough for a girl who never feels like she’s good enough?

I say I’m content with staying, but I wasn’t sure I believed it—until one girl wrapped her arms around me and held on like I was her lifeline. I saw the weight she was carrying, and it broke me.

Middle school is confusing and heavy and lonely. Holding her, wishing I could carry some of that weight for her, I felt something shift in me.

I started to believe this might be enough.

This “ordinary” life.
This quiet, unseen ministry.
This corner of the world.

Shannan Martin writes:

“In a world that pushes us toward bigger, better, more costly and refined, seeing the humble as radiant is an act of holy resistance.”

That line won’t leave me. Faithfulness in the small, the quiet, the overlooked—it’s holy resistance.

This is my corner of the world.
MCS. Rehab. These girls. My Bible study. Mansfield.

My heart is still scattered across Ukraine and so many places around the globe. But this—right now—this is where God has placed me.

Sitting on the sidewalk with that girl, holding her, I started to believe that this is enough.

So if you need me, you’ll find me circled around a bonfire, loving the people in my corner of the world—finally believing that ordinary is enough.

What You Don’t See On My Good Days

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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.

Holding space for heavy moments

Posted on by fearlessatheart

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.

Boots and Crutches

Posted on by fearlessatheart

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”.