Launching Into the New
January 4th, 2025
Holding Joy & Healing Together
I didn’t plan to step away from my blog over the holidays—but man, did I need something off my plate.
Between parenting, work, graduate school, the weight of the season, and the quiet emotional load that always seems to surface at the end of the year, writing had to rest for a bit. At first, I wrestled with guilt. This space matters to me. This work matters to me. I worried that stepping away meant I was letting something important slip through my fingers.
The truth is, stepping away from something is really hard for me. I don’t like to give up. I don’t like to let things go. I wrestled with this decision for about a week—telling myself I should just push through, that I’d regret stopping, that rest could wait. But the longer I sat with it, the clearer it became: this wasn’t avoidance—it was grace.
Sometimes God doesn’t ask us to push harder or try more. Sometimes He asks us to stop. To lay something down for a season. To trust that nothing truly meant for us will be lost in the resting.
Once I finally sank into that grace—once I allowed myself to release something instead of gripping it—I felt a quiet shift. In the stillness, I found myself refreshed, grounded, and ready to return—not out of obligation or pressure, but with renewed intention and clarity.
Returning With Intention
This blog has always been a sacred space for me—a place where faith, healing, and honesty intersect. Stepping back reminded me why I started writing in the first place. Not to perform. Not to keep up. Not to present a polished version of myself. But to bear witness to what God has done—and continues to do—in my life.
This space exists to shine light in dark places. To offer hope to those who may feel alone or stuck in their struggles. To connect faith and mental health in a way that feels real and compassionate—and to share how Jesus meets us in every part of our story and brings healing to all of it.
As I step back in, I’m doing so slowly and thoughtfully. I’m excited to continue my faith series, but I want to name something with care before moving forward.
Content Notice:
The next few “chapters” I’ll be sharing will touch on some of the deepest and most painful parts of my story—experiences rooted in trauma, loss, and profound heartbreak. I share these not to relive them, but to honor the healing that followed and the God who never left me in those places.
I will include trigger warnings by topic as I write, to help protect those who may not be ready to read a particular chapter. And I want to gently remind you: if there is a part of your story that still feels raw or overwhelming, it’s okay to wait.
Healing work around trauma is best done alongside a mental health professional or a priest/pastor who can walk with you safely through it.
This space will always prioritize gentleness—toward myself and toward you.
A Season of Becoming
Outside of this blog, life feels like it’s unfolding in ways that are both humbling and deeply joyful.
I recently got engaged to the love of my life—something I once prayed for quietly and carefully, unsure if it would ever come. To be loved with intention, steadiness, and faith has been one of the greatest gifts of my life. It’s reminded me that God’s timing is never rushed, never careless, and never late.
I’m also in the process of becoming Catholic—a journey that surprised me in both its gentleness and its depth. The call first stirred in my heart last Easter, during a season of reflection and resurrection, when I felt an unexpected sense of home settle over me. After months of prayer and discernment, I began OCIA classes this past September at St. Joseph Catholic Church.
This decision hasn’t come without questions or concern from people I love. I’ve been met with some scrutiny and well-intentioned worries about the Catholic faith, and I want to name that honestly—because discernment rarely happens in isolation.
For me, this journey isn’t about a faith that is better or worse. It’s about a deeper walk—one that speaks to my soul and feels familiar in its reverence and rootedness. In many ways, it echoes the Presbyterian upbringing that first shaped my love for God. I’ve been drawn to the traditions, the liturgy, and the quiet sacredness of a faith that invites both mind and body to participate fully in worship.
This path has been one of listening, learning, and surrender—of saying yes again and again to the quiet invitations God places before me. I’ll share more about my conversion story in time, but for now, I’m allowing it to unfold with humility and trust.
This spring, I’ll begin my practicum for my counseling graduate program, which will then lead me into my internship. For the first time, my lived experience, my education, and my calling are aligning in a way that feels both humbling and holy.
And this summer—I’ll be marrying my best friend and honeymooning in Italy. 🤍
There are moments when I pause and think, How did I get here? Not through striving or forcing outcomes—but through trusting. Through patience. Through finally surrendering my love life to God and choosing to do things His way.
I waited. I obeyed. I trusted. And God exceeded my deepest desires, blessing me in ways I never thought possible through surrendering my plans for His design for marriage. If you need a nudge to wait, I’ll be writing a full blog about this at a later time—but for now, know this: God is faithful with the desires of our hearts.
Holding Joy and Healing Together
What I’m learning in this season is that joy and healing are not opposites. Celebration doesn’t erase the past, and grief doesn’t disqualify joy. They coexist—and they deepen one another.
The same God who met me in the darkest valleys is the One who now invites me to live fully in the light. Both seasons matter. Both shape who I’m becoming.
This year feels full—not in a frantic or overwhelming way, but in a rooted one. I’m stepping forward with gratitude for where I’ve been, reverence for where I am, and hope for what’s ahead.
Moment for You
Maybe you can relate to stepping back from something you love—not because you wanted to, but because your soul needed room to breathe. Or maybe you’re standing at the edge of a new season, feeling both excited and unsure, holding gratitude for what’s ahead while still carrying the weight of where you’ve been.
New beginnings often arrive quietly. They don’t always come with certainty or confidence, but with a gentle invitation—to trust that rest is not wasted, and that God is just as present in the pause as He is in the forward movement. This season may not look like a clean slate, but it can still be a sacred one.
Take a moment to reflect:
Where has God been inviting you to slow down, release, or lay something aside?
What feels new or stirring in your heart right now—even if it also feels tender?
How might God be using both joy and healing to prepare you for what comes next?
Remember this truth: you don’t have to have everything figured out to step forward. God often does His most beautiful work in the in-between—where rest meets renewal, and hope begins to rise again.
Scripture Reminders
“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” — Isaiah 43:19
“Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.” — Isaiah 40:31
“The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me.” — Psalm 138:8
Closing Prayer
Dear Lord,
Thank You for meeting us in both rest and renewal.
Thank You for the pauses that restore us and the courage to step forward again.
As we enter new seasons, guard our hearts, steady our steps, and remind us that You go before us.
Hold tender places with care, and teach us to receive joy without fear.
We trust You with what’s unfolding and place what’s ahead into Your loving hands.
Amen.
Disclaimer: This post reflects my personal lived experience and faith journey and is shared for encouragement and reflection only. It is not intended to provide professional counseling, mental health treatment, or medical advice. If this content brings up distressing emotions or unresolved trauma, I encourage you to seek support from a licensed mental health professional, priest, pastor, or trusted support person.
Your healing matters, and it’s okay to move at your own pace.
