Tag: trials

Here’s to Hoping This Season Isn’t Forever

Posted on by fearlessatheart

I’m coming up on four months of being non-weight bearing.

When this all started, I never imagined this season would last this long. If I’m honest, it’s probably been one of the most frustrating seasons of my life. There are days when I wonder if it will ever end.

I’m doing everything I’m supposed to do. I’m following the plan. I’m resting. I’m being careful. My foot is healing…just slowly.

That’s one of the things I dislike most about healthcare: it rarely fits neatly into black-and-white boxes. Bodies don’t always follow timelines. Healing doesn’t always look the way we expect it to. Sometimes the only option is to pivot.

Life is funny that way.

As a nurse, I want things to be straightforward for my patients. I want clear answers and predictable outcomes. As a patient, I want the exact same thing. I wish healing happened faster. I wish hard work always produced immediate results.

But this season has taught me—or maybe reminded me—of a few things.

God is near to the brokenhearted.

There have been seasons in my life where I’ve been so overwhelmed that I didn’t even have the words to pray. If you’ve never been there, it’s hard to explain that kind of despair. And honestly, I hope you never have to experience it.

Yet somehow, it has been in those moments that I’ve understood God’s heart the most. It’s funny—even when I’ve been frustrated or angry with Him, He’s never been offended by my honesty. He has simply stayed near.

People can be the very best.

I don’t think I’ll ever take for granted the power of a smile, a text message, a meal, or a kind word again. I’ve been amazed by the kindness of strangers and the generosity of acquaintances who have offered rides, checked in, or simply sat with me when I needed someone to talk to. Those small acts of kindness have carried more weight than they’ll probably ever know.

Sometimes God slows our bodies to still our hearts.

If you know me, you know I’m a doer. I love a full calendar, a checklist, and a plan. Slowing down has never come naturally to me.

But maybe that’s exactly why I needed this season.

Atlas will only be this little once. These extra cuddles, slower mornings, and moments I never would have paused for before are gifts I might have missed if life had continued at its usual pace.

I still don’t like this season. I wouldn’t choose it. I still hope it ends sooner rather than later.

But even here, God has been faithful.

So here’s to hoping this season isn’t forever—and trusting that even if healing takes longer than I hoped, it won’t be wasted.

The Hard and the Holy

Posted on by fearlessatheart

This summer has been nothing like I imagined.

I pictured running through Kingwood Gardens with my toddler, swimming in lakes, and finally enjoying being back on two feet again.

Jokes on me.

Let me be incredibly transparent.

Transparency and authenticity are not new things for me. Since my accident in 2016, I have realized what a gift authenticity can be. I’m not saying we should air all of our dirty laundry or share every hardship with everyone in every setting. But I do believe there is beauty in letting people see both the messy and the holy parts of our lives.

For years, I looked at other people and compared myself to the polished version of them I had created in my mind. Unsurprisingly, I always came up short. Social media doesn’t help because most of us naturally share the highlights, not the heartbreak. I was recently reminded how dangerous it is to assume everyone else has it all together when we only know the edited version of their story.

What if we were just a little more honest—with ourselves and with each other? What if we shared both the hard and the holy?

If I’m being honest, I’m tired of life being hard.

I know God uses difficult seasons to shape us and refine us. I believe that with my whole heart. But sometimes, in the middle of the night, when my fears are louder than my faith, I quietly wish He would stop refining me for a while.

Don’t hear what I’m not saying. I’m not saying God caused my accident or my broken foot. We simply live in a broken world where painful things happen.

I joke that my broken foot makes me a better rehab nurse because I can better relate to my patients. Truthfully, though, my accident already taught me that lesson. So I’ve found myself asking, What am I supposed to learn this time?

Surprisingly, this season—and honestly, both of these seasons—hasn’t been about learning how to endure pain. It’s been about learning to be confident in who I am and in the skills God has given me while still being humble enough to admit I have so much left to learn. Growth requires both confidence and humility. If we stop learning, we stop growing.

So maybe that’s really the point of all of this.

Not that we have all the answers.
Not that we pretend everything is okay.
Not that we wait until our story is wrapped up neatly before we share it.

Maybe we’re simply meant to let people see the whole picture.

Because when we have the courage to share both the hard and the holy, we create space for someone else to say, “Me too.”

And I think we’d be surprised by how many people understand.

94 Days: The Hard and the Holy

Posted on by fearlessatheart

94 days.

That’s how long I’ve been non-weightbearing this time around.

I’m tired—like, really tired—but the break is finally healing, so hopefully I’ll be back on my feet soon.

Here are just a few things I’ve learned—and honestly, relearned—during this season.

Healing takes time, and it isn’t always linear.

I don’t know about you, but I want healing to happen instantaneously. That’s not how life works. Healing is a process. It ebbs and flows over time. Whether it’s physical healing or emotional healing, it takes time and patience.

The funny thing about patience is that when you ask God for it, He doesn’t simply hand it to you. He allows you to walk through situations that grow it.

It’s good—necessary, even—to let people help you.

This is a hard lesson for me to learn… and relearn.

I like to be in control, which usually means I like to do everything myself. It drives my loving husband crazy because I’ll ask him to do something and then go ahead and do it myself.

I’m learning that asking for help also means allowing people to actually help.

It’s important to have people in your corner.

I am incredibly blessed to have people who love me enough to drive me places, bring meals, check in, and encourage me.

The only problem? I have to get over myself and actually ask.

Sometimes they love me through something as simple as a handwritten card. Somehow, God always seems to deliver those cards on the days when chaos feels the loudest.

Atlas will only be little once.

This is Atlas’ childhood.

This is my motherhood.

I want to enjoy the time I get to spend with him instead of constantly rushing from one thing to the next. In a strange way, this season has been a gift because we’ve had so much uninterrupted time together simply because I can’t rush around.

There is beauty in living a slower life.

I’m not saying I’m going to quit my job or leave school. But I can’t sustain constantly running from one thing to another.

There has to be balance.

The month before I broke my foot again, I was trying to do everything. I loved everything I was doing, but I was exhausted, and if I’m honest, everyone around me felt it too.

I physically can’t live that way anymore.

Maybe that’s the lesson.

Not to stop doing the things I love, but to learn how to pace myself so I can actually enjoy them.

These are just a few of the things God has been teaching me in this season—the hard and the holy.

Hopefully, this chapter is coming to a close, and a new one—maybe a little less adventurous—is about to begin.

But if this season has taught me anything, it’s that sometimes the slowest seasons produce the deepest growth.

Truth Louder Than Fear

Posted on by fearlessatheart

I have this very bad habit of lying to myself.

I get caught up in my head, allowing negative thoughts about my abilities, capabilities, and worth to weave themselves into my life.

“You are not good enough or pretty enough.”
“You cannot do that.”
“Well, they only decided to hang out with you because you kept bothering them.”
“See? You do not know as much as you think you do.”
“They probably do not even want to be around you.”
“Do not even try because you will fail.”

These lies feed my insecurities and slowly suffocate my desire to be brave. I begin second-guessing my abilities and spiraling deeper into believing the statements running through my head.

It does not help that I am an overthinker. I read too much into my own actions and the actions of others. These toxic thoughts hold me back from being bold in the face of new challenges because they fill me with fear—fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear of not being enough.

The past couple of weeks have felt like a constant battle as those lies flooded my overwhelmed soul, trying to convince me that I have no idea what I am doing, that I will never fit in, and that I will never truly be enough.

I hate failing. I hate doing things that I know I might fail at. So instead of stepping out bravely and risking failure in friendships, adulthood, or even my new job, it became easier to hide behind my toxic thoughts.

In the quiet moments, I allowed those lies to keep weaving themselves into my mind, so instead of the quiet feeling refreshing, it became unbearably lonely.

Ashamed, I admit that I failed at living audaciously because I allowed fearful thoughts to trap me inside the safety of my comfort zone.

Ironically, I failed anyway—the exact thing I was trying so desperately to avoid.

Truthfully, I have always hated doing things I knew I would not immediately be good at. If I thought I might fail, I usually ran in the opposite direction and played it safe.

And during all this change, I did the same thing emotionally. I clung tightly to the people, routines, and places that felt familiar instead of allowing myself to branch out, build new friendships, and create new rhythms.

But here is the reality: I will probably fail at something. Maybe even a lot of things.

I cannot spend my life standing still simply because success is not guaranteed.

The thoughts that hold me captive in fear are lies, and they need to be rebuked and pushed aside.

Instead, I need to fight back with words that breathe life into my soul.

“You can do this.”
“You are enough.”
“You are beautiful.”
“You may fail, but you will learn and grow from it.”
“You are loved.”

These are the truths I need to weave into my heart until they become louder than the lies.

Somehow, it has always been easier for me to speak these truths over other women and other people than it has been to believe them about myself.

But my challenge in this season is this: to remind myself that I am brave, capable, confident, and fearless in the face of lies trying to steal my joy.

And maybe you need that reminder too.

You are brave.
You are enough.
You are loved.

God created you with purpose and intention. Yes, you will probably fail at something—but do not let the fear of failing keep you from fully stepping into the life you were meant to live.

You Don’t Wait for Recovery-You Choose It.

Posted on by fearlessatheart

If you want a glimpse into what goes on in my head—or in the minds of those living with a brain injury—read this book-I’ll Carry the Fork. 

Kara Swanson shares, in a lighthearted and honest way, the realities of life after a brain injury. Brain injuries are like snowflakes—no two are exactly the same—but there are threads that connect many of our experiences.

Here are a few truths I’ve learned along the way:

It’s hard—but necessary—to rely on others.
There is something incredibly humbling about needing help with things you once did independently. Admitting you need help is hard, but it’s also where connection and growth begin.

You choose when you’re recovered.
Recovery isn’t the absence of symptoms. It’s the moment you decide to move forward despite them.
“We are the only ones who can choose when we are recovered…when we stop waiting for our old lives to return on handsome white horses.”
At some point, we stop waiting—and start becoming.

Post-it notes are your friends.
When memory fails, sticky notes step in. Bright colors, little reminders—tiny lifelines. (Yellow is my favorite…a little bit of sunshine on hard days.)

Attitude is everything.
Those who say they can’t and those who say they can are both right. Belief shapes effort. Effort shapes outcomes.
In my case, my stubbornness finally had a purpose.

Forgive. Forgive. Forgive.
Forgive the people who are well. Forgive the life you didn’t choose. Forgive the injury itself.
Holding on to bitterness only weighs you down. Let it go—not because it’s easy, but because it’s freeing.

Thank the people who jumped in the hole with you.
I didn’t choose this. But the people who stayed? They did.
They chose to walk through the hard, to sit in the unknown, to love me through it all. And for that, I am endlessly grateful.

Nothing has power over you unless you give it that power.
A brain injury changes your life—but it doesn’t have to stop it. We still get to choose how we live within it.

Fill the holes in your life—before they fill themselves.
Fill them with people who lift you up. With kindness. With truth. With hope.
Find the ones who remind you who you were, who understand who you are, and who believe in who you’re becoming.

I’ve found those people. And I thank God for them.

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

Posted on by fearlessatheart

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.

Brave with Abandon

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Abandon.

Not the kind that leaves you empty—but the kind that flings you forward.
This is the word I chose for my year, and somehow it already feels prophetic. We’re barely two months in, and it’s been a whirlwind of surrender, fear, faith, and boldness.

It started with panic. The clinical program I thought I had secured fell through, and suddenly everything felt uncertain. I scrambled, prayed, and questioned—until, at the very last minute, it worked out. God has a sense of humor. I think He saw me getting a little too comfortable and decided to remind me who’s actually in control. (Spoiler: it’s not me.)

Now, I’m in a clinical program that stretches me daily. It pushes me beyond hesitation, beyond comfort, beyond the safety of staying small. And in that stretching, I’m learning what it means to chase my calling with abandon.

So far, this year has already taught me a few things—lessons I didn’t ask for, but desperately needed.

First, bravery isn’t the absence of fear—it’s obedience in the middle of it.
There is so much to be afraid of, and motherhood multiplies that fear. If I could, Atlas would live in a bubble where nothing could touch him. Anxiety is my constant companion, and I work hard to keep it from shaping him. He is fearless, wild, curious—and I don’t want my fears to become his limits. Some days I succeed. Some days I fight my own heart just to let him be brave.

Second, nursing is not just a job—it is a privilege.
Yes, it’s exhausting. Yes, it’s often thankless. But it is sacred. Being invited into people’s most vulnerable moments is an honor. There are days filled with heartbreak and injustice, when bad things happen to good people. Nursing isn’t glamorous, and when you forget your “why,” burnout isn’t far behind. Remembering that this is a calling—this is a privilege—keeps my heart anchored.

And finally, balance is not optional—it is survival.
Work-life balance gets tossed around like a trendy phrase, but for me, it is the difference between being present and being depleted. Without it, I’m miserable—internally and externally. Date nights are a must, even when they’re simple. Sometimes it’s a quiet moment after a long day. Sometimes it’s takeout on the couch. The point is connection. I need time with my favorite people to be the best version of myself. I’m choosing to love them—and myself—with abandon.

We’re only at the beginning of this year, and already God is teaching me what it means to live wide open—to trust, to leap, to love without holding back.

So buckle up.
It’s going to be a wild year.

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.

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

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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.